


Black & Red

by Iknowthebattle



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Drag Queens, Gay Bar, M/M, Prompt Fic, gender fluidity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-06-18 16:36:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15490101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iknowthebattle/pseuds/Iknowthebattle
Summary: A lovely person suggested the following prompt for a fic:Timmy is a drag queen and meets Armie in full drag in a bar. They have a drink and a very meaningful conversation that helps Armie make a life altering decision. A year later they meet again but Armie can't recognize Timmy out of drag.So, this is for you, dear anon.





	1. Chapter 1

_**Chelsea; NYC** _

At some point every club in Chelsea had been a drag club with free drink Tuesdays or Karaoke Fridays. Before that they had been drug dens, artist lofts and studios; now sometimes all three for the cost of prime Manhattan real estate. That or knowing the right people at the right time under whatever means necessary. 

 Nothing about those places was Armie’s scene. He would rather go to the dentist or attend church in Texas with his family than sit through another lip sync battle to Katy Perry  _(how many times can a man do a death drop without breaking his dick?)_  or god forbid watch another sad soul strain to belt out Britney Spears. 

 

_I’m a slaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaave for you._

_Ga-ga Oo La La!_

_I don’t know why I like it...I just do!_

But here he was, in a crowded gay bar and of course it was drag night. It was Saturday and the walls were wet with New York summer humidity, leftover sweat from the bodies that were packed in tonight. Britney, Gaga and Whitney had been on heavy rotation the entire two hours he had been there, sang by perspiring queens to varying degrees of success.

Armie sat at the bar, nursing a Manhattan, doing his best not to spill it on whoever came and went in the seat next to him. 

Nick of all people had suggested they come here, promising a quiet evening, saying in his sing-song voice, “its jazz night!” Of course he had been lying. Armie should have known better. This place had been a two story art gallery 6 months ago. Now it was basically a disco lit by cell phone light, everyone downing terrible, but strong cocktails. 

He made a face as he finished his second drink. He should have ordered a Mai Tai or Cosmo, something they couldn’t fuck up. 

He pushed his empty glass across the bar, signaling that he wanted another, but something, anything else.

He was handed a long island iced tea with a yellow swirly straw and a pink umbrella. _Fuck._ He remembered drinking a pitcher of these in college and the rest of the night was spent in the back of a pick-up truck yelling at the stars thinking they were talking to him while his friends made sure to hit every pot hole in the road. 

Could alcohol make you hallucinate? 

He accepted it with a nod. It was all going to lead to the same place anyway.

Armie craned his neck to see Nick dancing, of course, in-between two men he had never met before, sweaty, laughing, whispering into the ear of the one in front of him, lazy, sweaty arms thrown over the shoulders of a polo shirt. 

Armie checked the time on his phone. He would stay another twenty minutes and call it good. He had done his duty as a good friend. He would lie and tell Nick that he had collected a few numbers and shove cash in his pocket for a cab home (who’s home, he never knew), making sure to text him before he went to sleep reminding him to drink water and take a fucking handful of ibuprofen. 

They were bound to have the same conversation they always had, Nick hungover, whining over a plate of toast and bacon that Armie had made for him. 

“You know…you’re never going to meet men if you don’t like, actually make an effort to talk to them.”

“And tell them what? Hey there, I’m Armie, I’m married and my wife doesn’t know I’m out trolling for ass, but anyway, wanna see a movie?” 

Nick would then proceed to roll his eyes and shove a piece of rye bread in his mouth, almost gagging. 

“Whatever you have to tell yourself…” he would mumble, reaching for more coffee.

 Armie wondered just how long this charade could go on. Rinse and repeat. He had known Nick since he was born practically, so of course Nick knew all of his secrets. It wasn’t so much a revelation that he was gay as a flippant remark about how Armie did a good job at pretending to like women when they were 21 over margaritas and tacos.

“Come on Armz, in my mind, you’re like, _my_ gay best friend.” Nick had said with a wave of his hand, and a bite into a tortilla chip and that was that.

Now here he was, almost 32, in a club where he was easily the oldest by ten years and his wife thought he was out having beers ‘with the boys.’

This wasn’t a total lie.

Another queen finished, people cheered, she collected her money off the stage blowing kisses and calling everyone cock suckers. Same old, same old.

Armie tossed a fistful of dollars on the bar, not bothering to count.

He rolled his eyes as the lights lowered, mentally preparing himself for Cher or maybe ABBA this go round, but he paused on the bar stool when he heard the opening notes of a song he knew he had heard before…Sade? This didn’t sound like a song a drag queen should be singing, at least no drag queen he had heard. What the hell was this?

Armie left his place at the bar and worked his way through the crowd, his ass grabbed at least three times, a few people whispered _Yes, Daddy_ which he effortlessly ignored.

He didn’t have to stand too close to the stage to get a view, one of the advantages of being 6’5 but there was nothing on the stage to see.

A single spotlight came on above the stage, above the crowd and Armie squinted to see the figure sitting on a circle, an O shaped aerial swing, but the shadow was perched on the lower half of the circle, legs coated in sheer black thigh high stockings, crossed and dangling below, long, too thin arms holding onto each side, arms covered in black elbow length black silk gloves.

He noticed there were tiny red bows at the tops of the stockings. They matched the red corset and red silk underwear hidden under a sheer black, frilled skirt. Her lips were pouting, red and sparkly.

The spotlight went red and the woman began mouthing the words, _No Ordinary Love_ …that was the name of the song, he knew he had heard it before. She began moving her lithe body side to side, just enough that her slender hips rolled.

Armie had never seen a woman perform in a gay club, certainly not at a drag show and he wondered if this was allowed because it seemed unfair as hell. She was already kicking everyone’s ass that had come before her and he felt sorry for whoever had to go after.

He was grateful more than ever for his height, barely having to crane his neck as she began swinging a little, uncrossing her legs to cheers from below. He wondered how she would manage to get her tips all the way up there.

Armie watched as she swung harder, now fully, but slowly, swinging in perfect time over everyone. She leaned back, her legs out in front of her. They were even longer than they looked crossed, or hanging down. Armie marveled at how lengthy and lean her body was, a perfect plank, long, black hair falling down at the end, perfect pointed toes in black and red bottomed heels at the other.

The song, the music was sensual as hell, and the normally rowdy crowd stood still under her spell, only letting out a few whistles and a _“Work Mama!”_ every now and then.

Armie was transfixed. She seemed boneless, made of air.

_Didn’t I tell you…what I believe?_

_Did somebody say that love like that won’t last?_

He closed his eyes and when he opened them, silver and red heart shaped confetti landed on his eyelids, in his hair, sticking to the front of his shirt. Everyone was reaching up to catch the glittery love snow. He looked up. She was sprinkling hearts to her now loyal followers, a cabaret pied piper high above the village of mice and men.

_This is no ordinary love…_

The song finished and she twirled slightly in the swing, giddy, but cool, waving down with one hand, a true queen, or princess, Armie wasn’t sure which. He could see her eyeshadow, all silver glitter from here, eternal lashes as she blinked, smiling. She was happy.

The spotlight went out, and the swing was gone.  Armie looked around, wondering how they pulled this magic off in a club but he didn’t have time to think because the music was cranked up again, Janet Jackson this time, and break time for the performers.

A spell had clearly been broken, but everyone seemed to bounce back to reality so quickly, not questioning the magic, the lovely witchcraft they just witnessed.

Armie still felt breathless. His eyes scanned the room for any sign of her, he wanted to talk to her, had a sudden urge to ask her why she was here, and how she got away with it. He wanted to thank her for not doing Cher.

He was pushed to the side, hip bumped and elbowed away as people danced all around him. He clamored back to the bar, meaning to inquire who the hell that was, but she was sitting there, still in costume, but with a black, velvet floor length coat on her shoulders, sipping a glass of red wine.

Armie made a bee line for her, pushing people out of his way, not caring how it looked, how desperate he seemed.  

He slid sideways, no small task with his size, in-between a flirty queen and her, one hand resting on the bar.

“Hi, hello.” Now that was he was here, looking at her, Armie had no idea what he was actually going to say. He felt the back of his throat tighten, turn to cotton.

She looked at him, floor to face, slowly, taking him in, never removing the glass of wine from her lips.

“You were…incredible back there…up there…” he sounded like a little boy at a baseball game, holding out a glove for an autograph in the stands.

The woman smiled; red lipstick perfectly in place. She set her wine glass down on the cheap brown cocktail napkin perfectly.

“Velours Noir.” She extended her hand, and he accepted it, kissing the top of her glove, looking at her the entire time.

“What is that? It’s French, right?”

She nodded. “Oui. It means…Black Velvet.” She moved her shoulders, drawing attention to her coat.

“I like it. It suits you. I mean, at least it’s not Chanda Lear or Amber Alert or some god forsaken name like that.”

She laughed, hand over her mouth.

“Yes, well it all depends on what type of queen you are, I suppose.”

Armie stopped, swallowed.

“I wanted to ask…I mean…I know this is probably not allowed or just…a shitty thing to even think, let alone say…”

“I’m a man, darling.” Velvet was blinking at him, head cocked, fingers grazing her glass.

Armie blinked, full of disbelief, wondering if he was being fucked with.

“You’re a…wait. You’re a _man_?”

“Mm hmm, a drag queen. I’m a real; live, in the flesh drag queen but…”  Velvet moved her coat aside and uncrossed her legs briefly, locking her heels on the lowest rung of the bar stool, lifting her barely there skirt.

“I am a man.”

Armie couldn’t help but look. There was indeed a knot there, the clear, smooth outline of a cock, somewhat tucked away but there nonetheless. He wanted to reach out and glide the back of his hand across the front of the red silk panties.

“I-I…I hope this…wow I am…a _total_ and complete fucking asshole,” he breathed, scratching his forehead, no longer able to look anywhere but at the floor.

Velvet laughed a husky, rattling laugh, but it was happy, amused.

“It’s fine. You’re not the first, and you certainly won’t be the last. If it makes you feel any better, she, her, all that is fine. It’s all good.” She looked him up and down again. “I like it all.”

Armie finally got the nerve to look up, still blushing, but relieved.

Velvet nodded towards the bar. “A drink?”

Armie nodded, flagged down the bartender, and ordered a beer.

“A beer, not even a dark one,” Velvet teased. “So you learned not to fuck with the cocktails here.”

Armie laughed, loud and hearty.

“You got that right.”

Armie gratefully accepted his beer, raising it in the air, and Velvet followed.

“To…”

Velvet hummed. “Hmm…to…meeting a handsome stranger in a gay club with an actual sense of humor and lack of judgement.”

Armie grinned, touching his glass to hers. “Cheers to that.”

He drained half his bottle placing it back on the bar and cleared his throat.

“Speaking of um…no judgement….I guess that I should be honest too…”

Velvet waved a gloved hand. “I know, you’re married. Kids too, right?”

Armie stared. “Yeah…I am…married, two kids.” He looked at his hand. No tan line where the ring was missing, just the tattoo that was impossible to read in a club, let alone understand what it meant.

Velvet shrugged. “You smell married. You’re clean, you’re polite. A woman has whipped you into shape no doubt so it’s either your Mother or your wife.”

Armie blinked, unable to conjure up a response.

Velvet reached across the bar, placed her hand on top of Armie’s. He shivered at the sensation, a feminine touch coming from a man…a woman…did it even _matter_ anymore? His head was all fucked up, but this felt good, it felt comfortable, right and he didn’t care why.

“I meet a lot of men like you, but you’re not….really like them, no, not at all. Trust me.” She tapped the side of her head with her other hand, then placed it over her heart, hidden inside her coat.

“You have something… _god,_ special is corny as hell, but maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s just…” She looked him up and down again. “Just that I already really like you.”

She seemed shy all of a sudden.

 Armie swallowed.

“Let me take you some place, anywhere, you name it.” He pictured bathing her in a tub full of rose petals, diamonds even, slowly taking off her corset, bending down on one knee to unfurl her thigh high stockings, kissing every inch of her pale, milky calf on the way down.

But Velvet shook her head.

“Not tonight. I’m tired. And besides,” She picked up his ring finger, kissing it.

“It looks like you really do love someone else.”

Armie wanted to scream. He could love her, he could love this. It wouldn’t just be sex, or a one night stand. It would be whatever they wanted it to be.

Armie took a deep breath.

“Do you have any idea…how difficult it is for me to come to places like this…to watch everyone dancing and practically fucking in the corner to some terrible pop song…and think…is this it? Is that what I would leave my life for? Am I going to blow up my marriage for some 21 year old twink in spandex?”

Velvet couldn’t help but laugh, but she shook her head, apologizing.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh at your pain…I just…well; I see your point I do. But…”

“But you’re different,” Armie blurted out. He had already made a fool of himself, so he may as well keep going.

Velvet nodded. “I know. I know you think so.”

Armie started to argue but she kept talking and he held onto her every word, waiting for a yes, waiting for a promise.

“I want you to do this,” she motioned between the two of them. “When you’re ready. And you’re not ready. You’re not even sure who you are yet.”

“Yes I am,” Armie fired back.

“None of us have it all figured out. I could sip on my wine, and listen to you for hours, stare at you like you were the last man on earth, let you  take me home and well…” she trailed off, but Armie’s mouth watered at the desire for her to finish.

“You’re just not the type who can live two lives.”

The reality, the sincerity of the words hit Armie like a bullet through his chest, ripping up his spine and settling in his brain.

“But I…I…”

Velvet rubbed his hand. “You’ll see. You choose which side of the fence you wanna be on. I don’t mean boys or girls. I mean…her or….” She placed a hand over his heart.

“You.”  

Armie wanted to ask her all of a sudden how old she was, but it didn’t matter. She could be 21 or 71, she was right, she knew him. How or why he didn’t know, but she did.

“I guess…well…” Armie put his hand over hers on his chest.

“Thank you. I’m Armie by the way.”

Velvet smiled, lips fire red, biting her bottom lip.

“Hello, Armie. And goodbye.”

**_1 year later_ **

**_NYC_ **

Armie was texting with one hand, looking at his watch with the other, shifting weight from one foot to the other while he stood on line at the pizza parlor down the street from his apartment.

 He was 20 minutes late to pick up the kids from his wife, now ex-wife. It was his weekend to watch them and while he would be the hero for showing up with pizza, he was losing points in the co-parenting department for showing up late.

He breathed a sigh of relief that his ex-wife didn’t seem _too_ mad when she responded to his text. Now he could focus on what to order.

“Can I get a…uh…plain medium pizza? Like just sauce and cheese, please?”

Armie smirked at such a simple order. The kid in front of him was wearing a baseball cap and a hoodie, black velvet pants tucked into white socks, all white sneakers on his feet. He paid in cash, and slid to the side, looking down at his phone the entire time while he waited for his order.

It was finally Armie’s turn.

“Hey uh, can I get an extra-large meat lover’s pizza with—“

“Armie?”

Armie turned at the sound of his name coming out of the young man’s mouth.

He squinted, trying to place where such a creature would know him, just another drone working on Wall Street, but was unable to trace their paths, the dots left unconnected.

“It’s me,” he grinned. Long, brown curls kissed by sun at the tips peeked out from each side of the baseball cap. The boy put his phone in his front hoodie pocket.

Armie just stared, unable to pretend he knew who was standing across from him.

“You don’t remember?” The boy’s face fell and Armie felt like the biggest piece of shit that ever walked the earth. Had he given money to this kid, like bought a painting from him on the sidewalk in SoHo? He really was getting old, his memory was shit.

The boy walked up to him, a small smile on his face, and put his hand over Armie’s heart.

“Hello, Armie.”

Armie almost reeled backwards, space and time reshuffled like a deck of cards until he knew exactly who this was, he was right back at that silly bar, drinking a beer, close to running away with a stranger.

Now that stranger was standing right in front of him, having just ordered a plain pizza and sprite.

“It’s you… _V-Velvet?”_ He whispered the name and the boy shook his head.

“Mm, not today. Today, I’m Timothee. Still French but…” he motioned down to his outfit.

Armie smiled at the black velvet pants.

“The masculine form.”  A giggle. “Whatever that means.”

Armie laughed too, forgetting all about his order. He put his hand over Timothee’s on his chest.

“By the way, while you’re here…I should probably let you know…”

Timothee’s face fell, long fingers curled up against the fabric of Armie’s dress shirt. Armie could tell that he was holding his breath.

“I chose me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Velvet/Armie. xx  
> There will be more Timothee too, fear not. 
> 
> PS: I will be traveling a lot over the next few weeks, but wanted to get this out before heading out. I hope you still love Velvet as much as I do.

The dressing room smelled like roses and honeysuckle.

A crystal vase of roses sat on the vanity, lit above by Hollywood lights, placed there by a well-meaning usher/bouncer. But the smell was that of Velvet’s perfume, a mixture Armie knew instantly by now.

It had only been a few weeks of being…boyfriend and girlfriend didn’t feel like works or labels that suited what he had with Velvet…with Timothee. He loved both of them, and they were so different, it was like being with two different people, equally mesmerizing, equally complex.

There were a lot of spirits, a lot of beings inside of one person and these were only two that Armie had been allowed to witness.

Dating was a cheap word.  Armie hated it. He never used it when it came to her, to them.

As far as anyone in his life knew, nothing had changed except the fact that he was happier, lighter, maybe on drugs. His boss noticed, Nick noticed, hell even his ex-wife had noticed.

Armie eyed the roses, wanted to ask who they were from, but knew they weren’t there yet…wherever _there_ was. He bit his thumbnail, eyes on the vase for half a second before returning to the scene in front of him.

Velvet pulled up her stockings, her thigh highs, with painfully slow precision. Careful not to smudge her freshly painted nails, fire engine red against black sheer nylon, hints of lace at the top.

She sat on a low, backless stool, white fabric under her elongated figure, one leg up in the air, then the other, a long arm running up and down the length of her.

Armie sat there, in awe, in a trance, as if he had never seen anyone put on stockings before. He had, but this was…different. This was Velvet, allowing him into her sacred space, behind closed doors, letting him bear witness to her ritual.

Armie watched her in the mirror, his face numb, slacken.

 Velvet knew she was being watched. She enjoyed it.

He watched her spritz on her rose and honeysuckle perfume; two sprays on her neck, one on each wrist.

“You know my Grandmother wore this exact same perfume.” Her voice traveled on air across the tiny space to where Armie was seated.

“Is that right?”

Velvet nodded, closing her eyes at the scent, the memory.

“Mmm hmm. Grandma Isabella, she was half-Italian, half-Russian, my Father’s Mother. My mother’s Mother was Jewish so we called her Bubby.”

Armie smiled at the tender, familiar nickname.

“My family is Jewish too you know…”

Velvet turned around to look at him.

“Really?” Her eyes were full of childlike wonder. “I had no idea.”

Armie nodded under her gaze. “Way, way back. Russian-Jewish.”

Velvet looked at him for a long time.

“Is that why you have that tattoo; your tattoo in Russian?”

She motioned towards his wrist.

Armie looked at the imprint as if seeing it for the first time.

“Yes…Yeah…it is.”

Velvet stood slowly, making her way over to him, the swish-swish of her stockings rubbing together, her heels click-clacking on the floor. She stood in front of Armie, lowering herself to his level, hands on his thighs. Armie’s breath hitched in his throat, air trapped between walls of muscle and nerves.

She rubbed the thin denim on his legs; lips puckered the way a worrying, loving Mother or Wife would over her sick child or husband.

“There’s so much I don’t know about you.” She paused for a long time, looking at him.

“But maybe you like it that way.”

Armie’s mouth fell open in protest.

“No-no, of course not. I-I’ll tell you anything. What do you want to know?”

Velvet’s smile was gentle, kind, knowing. She was still rubbing his legs, up and down, loving, comforting touching that Armie soaked up like a man dying from lack of touch, of love.

“I want to know…who was your first love?”

Armie reeled back at the question, his mind instantly spinning backwards in time, seeing nameless faces, even faceless bodies shuffle through his internal rolodex housed somewhere between his heart and his cock.

There was high school, college, his 20’s, and now.

Armie thought about the woman, the girl, he lost his virginity to. He thought about the girls in college he thought he loved, the countess fucks in apartments throughout the city, in hotel rooms, at cabins and casinos. He thought about Elizabeth, all legs and hair and every bit the type of woman he thought he wanted. She cooked, she decorated, she baked, she sent his clothes to the cleaners; she had his children.

But did he really love any of them? He enjoyed his time with all of them, but love…the kind that made you do things you didn’t want to do, the kind that made you say you would die for someone…he wasn’t sure he had ever really felt that.

“I don’t know…that’s a really hard question to answer,” he stuttered his way though some words that he felt should suffice.

Velvet shook her head. “No it isn’t. You just may not like the answer.”

Armie closed his eyes, took a deep breath.

“Mmm. Maybe you’re right. Maybe…maybe I always had the wrong idea of what love was really about…”

They both let the silence hang in the air for a long time. They began to breathe in and out in sync.

Velvet spoke first.

“I think that’s okay. Love sucks.”

Armie opened his eyes at such a statement from Velvet.

“I mean…it does, doesn’t it? It’s wonder and lovely and magical but it’s also sort of…fucked up.”

Armie laughed, relieved.

“I guess you’re right.”

Velvet hummed. “Yes, it fucks us up from time to time. None of us are immune to her powers.”

Armie forgot they were talking about love. In his Velvet induced fog he could have sworn they were talking about her, about how he felt around her, how his knees turned inward and how his stomach dropped when she was walked into a room, a space, any space. All she had to do was exist in the near vicinity of him.

He was entranced, smitten, beguiled.

“Yes. I guess you’re right,” he managed after a few deep breaths.

Velvet was ready to go on stage; she had everything except her feather boa and velvet coat which were waiting for her on a hook by the door. She took them off and put them on with ease, with the grace of an old-school Hollywood star.

Armie jumped up to help her and she let him, content to be taken care of. His large hands slid over her thin shoulders, smoothing out invisible wrinkles from her velvet cloak, the same cloak she had been wearing the first night they met at the bar. It made her look regal and soft all at once.

Velvet reached for his hand and he took it, walking behind her out of the dressing room, their arms swinging, fingers locked as they walked down the long, narrow hallway towards the theater.

Armie felt proud, important to be walking with her, they were clearly together; he was clearly someone who helped look after her in the ways she wanted to be looked after.

Velvet was performing burlesque tonight at a well-known New York Club. It was small, but packed. It was her usual once a month gig and Armie’s first step seeing it.

She had invited him to the show over cocktails the night before, matching martinis, her hands soft and long on top of his on the table.

“Of course I’ll come! I would love to. I-I’d be honored.”

And he was. And nervous. And excited.  

Armie never felt like a follower, some lost puppy that Velvet had picked up off the side of the road. Care taker didn’t feel right either. The last thing Velvet needed was someone to babysit her. There was no sob story to Velvet; no dark past, a colorful history and vibrant present to be sure, but she had come into her own not as an act of shame or resistance but as a natural state of being.

She was just as much Velvet as she was Timothee. Armie didn’t know who else may be in there, but he wanted to be there to find out.

There were so many things Armie was learning, his mind, his body were split wide open, ready, accepting of knowledge and experience. Being with Velvet was different than being with Timothee. The first time with both was unlike anything he had ever experienced. To totally different experiences, but he got to feel, touch, to lie alongside both of them.

Now he was sitting on the front row watching, waiting for the curtain to open and Velvet to appear. He watched everyone around him waiting for her too. Maybe they were there just to see her, maybe it was just a fun night out.

Armie liked the small, warm satisfaction of knowing he was there just for her, and she knew he was there, could probably pick him out from the crowd, because of his size, because she was looking for him. He felt himself smiling now, stupidly, broadly to himself. It was their little secret.

Armie wasn’t prepaered for what Velvet did on stage. It was nothing like the first time he had watched her perform; this was a tease, an endless tease that unwound Armie from his place of baseline desire and spread him thin across every possible nerve ending he didn’t know he had.

This, what he saw now, caused him to reach a fever pitch, his actual body temperature soared, temples pounding, palms wet.

Velvet removed one glove, then another; she moved one thigh high at a time. She lay on the floor of the stage, slowing writhing around, back arched, bare legs long and Armie actually uttered a string of curse words, lids heavy, hand half covering his mouth.

She slowly unbuttoned her corset, fingers diffing into her silk panties, tugging them down, but it was just a hint, just a tease and Armie didn’t know whether to be frustrated or relieved.

Her nipples were covered with sparkling red tassels and Armie resisted the urge to move forward the stage, drop to his knees and say a prayer at her altar, at her podium. Her hair held black and red sparkles and glitter; he couldn’t remember what she said it was while e was getting ready, sprinkling angel dust atop the crown of her head. But it shone under the lights, hints here and there, a messy halo.

Armie swallowed as her number ended, the curtain closing, people on their feet clapping, whistling, tittering among themselves, taking her in, and discussing her after the fact with admiration and awe. There was the old, familiar possessive side of him that wanted to claim her, to announce to everyone there that she was his and his alone.

But he didn’t and she wasn’t.

He let himself be soothed by the praise, the applause, and the overwhelmed and pleased whispers all around him because he knew she deserved it, every bit of it. He knew she was standing just behind the closed curtain collecting her things amidst the fallen glitter, smiling under her curls, maybe even laughing to herself at how she had gotten away with it once again.

Armie felt his body swell and rise with pride, pleased to be her partner in crime.

He watched the rest of the show, but his mind was clearly elsewhere, and as soon as the last performer finished and took their final bow, he rushed backstage, Velvet’s dressing door already memorized.

He knocked with two knuckles, but didn’t want for an answer, a summons, before opening the door.

Armie stood there, seeing Velvet on her stool in front of the vanity, dressed in her heels again, but no corset, no gloves, no stockings and his heart felt as if it had fallen ten fathoms deep inside his chest.

He closed the door softly behind him, unsure of his next move. Usually after a performance, Velvet wanted a cigarette or joint, some red wine or vodka on the rocks and to be left alone for at least half an hour in order to detox, to return to a semi-normal head space.

Armie stood still, holding his breath, waiting for a signal, a flick of her hand or wrist but there was nothing. He turned halfway towards the door but then there was a soft thud, then another and then pitter patter of now bare feet across the aged, hard wood floors, running towards him.

Velvet was in his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck, face buried in his neck. She let out a shaky, grateful breath.

Armie walked over towards the small couch against the wall, sitting down carefully, Velvet now in the exact same position in his lap.

They were there, breathing in and out eventually in time with one another, Velvet never raising her head, just nuzzling her nose, her chin deep into Armie’s ear, deeper in his cologne coated neck.

Armie felt the full weight of her half-dressed body on top of him, the body of a woman, the body of a boy, the body of a man. He closed his eyes and rubbed her back, fingers trailing up and down her spine, resting in the dips in her shoulder blades, in the divots above her panties.

“I’m tired.” A gentle, soft mumble.

Armie nodded. “I know baby.”

She made a sound like a contended purr against his skin and Armie shivered.

She pulled back, arms still around his neck, eyelashes coated in mascara that was only slightly smeared.

“Take me home, Armie?”

Armie got his first, real look at her since she left the stage. He tucked curls behind her ears on each side and she smiled, eyes fluttering shut in gratitude.

“You’re so good to me.” She rubbed the back of his neck, hands falling over his collarbone and eventually his ribs, making tiny circles between the rows of bones.

“Do you know that, hmm?”

Armie grunted, embarrassed by the praise, the compliment.

“I just…like being with you.”

Velvet put her head against his chest now, rubbing her sparkling forehead back and forth against his grey dress shirt, leaving a trail of bright and shiny things across him.

“I like being with you too.”

She sounded shy, but like she wanted to say more.

Armie knew he would draw a bath for her once they were back at his apartment (her place didn’t have a tub, a true tragedy, they both agreed) and then he would massage her shoulders, her feet and legs sore from hours in heels and then put her to bed. This was their routine after one of her shows.

But on the cab ride home, Velvet turned to look at Armie, tired, heavy head against the black, ripped leather seat. She reached over, trailing a painted finger down his throat to the middle of his chest, traveling further south to the tops of his thighs.

Armie shivered.

“Take me home and wash me, then make me dirty again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iknowthebattle on Tumblr where I post pretty, mostly bisexual people & things. xx


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honey, on your knees when you look at me  
> I'm dressed like a fucking queen and you're begging, "please"  
> I rule with the velvet tongue  
> And my dress undone  
> And I'll get you lost but I'm having fun  
> -King Princess 'Holy'

.

Armie’s apartment was pretty much what you would expect; sterile, new, marble counter tops in the kitchen and bathroom, bright lights in every corner, and blinding white walls in every room.

Only since Velvet and Timothee had come into the picture were there any traces of color or life.

There always seemed to be a stray red or black feather from one of Velvet’s boas that had floated to the bathroom floor. There was often glitter between the duvet and the sheets, or a stray black lace bra shoved under the bed, red gloves tossed on the kitchen island as an afterthought. There was once even a few smudges of make up on the bathroom sink.

Then there were the remnants of Timothee too; the well-worn baseball cap in the hall closet, his deodorant in Armie’s mirrored medicine cabinet, sneakers by the front door, _running_ sneakers, never his _going out_ pair. Those were in a box wrapped carefully in tissue paper after each wear.

They were sitting at the top of Armie’s closet, just as carefully looked after and cared for as Velvet’s red bottomed stilettos, just as precious as Timothee’s red bottomed, lace up combat boots.

Armie’s mind blurred and faded, his face flushing when he thought about both.

Armie followed Velvet into his apartment, unlocking and holding the door open for her. She was comfortable enough to know where the light switches were in each room. She flipped on the foyer and then kitchen light as she passed, making both rooms instantly bright.

“You need lamps,” she mused, passing her long fingers against the switch nearest the front door.

“Oh yeah? What kind?” Armie already knew the answer but wanted her to keep talking, wanted the sound of her voice all over his apartment.

“Mmm…floor lamps maybe? Or at least a lamp…one on each end table?” She motioned towards the couch with a naked arm, her gloves long forgotten inside her bag by the door.

She wore a tight, black dress, her shoulders on display and long legs un-covered, feet bare, heels kicked off and lying beside her bag.

Armie muttered something about IKEA, only to hear Velvet laugh, quietly, her full body leaning against the counter by the fridge.

“What? All the way to Red Hook, on a ferry?” But she didn’t seem bothered or put off by the idea.

“I think if two people can make it through IKEA without fighting or breaking up, that’s a miracle.” Armie laughed at his words, his own past insider knowledge.

Although his ex-wife preferred to have everything sent directly to their homes in both Los Angeles and Connecticut.  There was the ever present glass of chardonnay in her hand while the movers huffed and puffed, moving chaise lounges and solid oak dining room tables until she was satisfied. Armie would always tip them double.

Velvet was smiling, leaning forward to stroke the side of his face, touching his jaw and ear with the tips of her fingers.

“Does this mean if I want the blue couch and you want the white couch that you would divorce me?”

All of the blood in Armie’s body circled and stayed around his heart, the rest flooding to his head and cock in equal measure.

The word divorce didn’t trigger or set off something sad or dark inside of him. This was a shock to his system.

No, it was the idea of being… _married_ to Velvet, something about what she said meaning they were….that she felt comfortable enough to use such a word…

Armie felt light headed at the thought. She could have said anything else. _Left me…break up with me…ditch me in the pillow and home wares section…_

But no.

“What’s got you all riled up and spaced out?”

Velvet’s voice shimmered into his thoughts and he blinked out of whatever fucked up trance he had been in.

“I…um…I don’t know. I guess I think too much.”

Velvet’s face, still painted from her performance that evening, twisted up into a playful grin.

“You thinking too much…that’s the understatement of the century.”

Armie knew it was true. He might look like he had his shit together on the surface, but underneath, wheels spun, the train never left the tracks, his mind was always buzzing, always busy.

Armie tried to stay a step ahead of everything, even if he knew that was impossible. When he lost or fell behind, he blamed everything and everyone else, the system, the game, other people, assholes. He never blamed himself for trying too hard, for trying to be too many things to too many people.

It was the world that was too loud, too shitty, too much.

But now Velvet was floating around his apartment and Armie stood back and watched her, she was opening a beer against the counter, leaving the top where it laid spinning near the microwave like a game of heads or tails.

Velvet drank the beer slowly at first, and then downed it in one long pull, Armie watching her throat as the liquid worked its way down, painted nails gripping the green bottle tight.

Armie cleared his throat once she finished, dropping it into the blue recycle bin with a soft _shush_ against the plastic bag inside. The bin was empty; he had taken it out that morning for the Super to deal with.

Velvet headed out of the kitchen, flipping off the light on the way out. He saw the outline of her shoulder, the silhouette of her profile as she looked over, behind, at him.

“Come on love,” she whispered, a soft voice in the dark, a red flame cooling after a slow burn.

Armie followed her into down the narrow hallway and into the bathroom he had recently had remodeled.

His building was new, but he had hated the bathroom since the day he moved in. He had changed it up just because he could, because he owned the unit and wanted it the way he wanted it.

 He loved the soft navy blue bath and hand towels, loved the stark white counter tops against the dark blue walls, the big white, cool tiles under their feet. He loved the massive stand up two-person-shower he had installed with four shower heads that felt more like a personal spa than something to shave and listen to NPR in while he was still half-asleep.

But his favorite thing he had added was the 19th century lion’s claw bath tub he had bought at an auction at Christie’s last fall. It was extra-long and it was the first tub that he had ever been able to fit inside of so he paid whatever he had to pay for it and now it was his, gleaming, stately, in the center of the room.  

It was Velvet’s. It was theirs.

Velvet moved around the bathroom now, lighting candles, all vanilla and pear scented, she insisted that every room have its own scent, its own flavor; its own mood. The living room was firewood, Armie’s bedroom was rain; the kitchen was lemon and honey.

Armie lowered the lights and began running the bath water, testing it with his finger until she had completed her task and the room was lit only by the flames coming from the counter top and all around the room in glass candle holders.  He poured just a little rosemary bubble bath into the spray, letting the tub fill with suds just the way she liked it.

She stood by the side of the tub, Armie walking over to her, his own feet naked on the cold floor, pants rolled up at the cuff like he had done as a kid.

Velvet turned to let him unzip her dress from top to bottom, letting it fall to the floor in a pool of black at her feet. She was wearing red silk panties underneath, his favorite, nothing on top.

“Do you want to take off your make up first?” He asked softly. He was staring at the curve of her spine, her narrow hips, the dark curls lying against her neck.

Velvet shook her head.

“No, I just want you to help me like you always do.”

Armie wrapped his hands around Velvet’s waist, still standing behind her, his touch so gentle he was barely touching skin.

She let out a long breath, letting her body weight fall against him. He knew she had closed her eyes.

“Mmm…tighter…please…” she whispered and he pulled her in, gripping the skinny waist, the rib cage between his hands which took up half the space of the entire front of her body. He was massive next to her and the thought, the feeling made him tremble.

He was used to being larger than everyone, now he was bigger than both man and woman at once, able to protect, to hold; to surround both.

Armie wished he could see the two of them right now. He would get a full length mirror for the bathroom soon. He would fill every square inch of his apartment with mirrors and candles and Velvet’s favorite wine and Timothee’s favorite beer or vice versa until there was no room left to stand if that’s what they all wanted.

Velvet nodded and Armie kissed her neck, reaching down to lower the silk red panties to the floor where they joined the black dress still around her feet like a lagoon.

He kissed her shoulder, looking down through heavy lids to see her totally free, her cock hard, but he didn’t take advantage, no, that wasn’t part of their routine, their ritual.

Instead he steadied his breathing, taking one hand to lead her over towards the tub, and she stepped out of and away from her clothes, putting one foot, one long leg into the hot water, then the other until she was standing, the bubbles coming up to her thighs.

Armie helped her sit down, her eyes closed the entire time, until she was sitting; suds at her shoulders, bone thin sticking above the bubbles.

She opened her eyes to look up at him and nodded again.

He bent down, picking up the soft coral sponge and dipped it into the steaming water, raising it to the back of her head, squeezing it until it was dry. The water ran down the crown of her head, soaking her curls until they stuck to her neck and ears and made rivets down her back, soaking the ivory skin from her shoulder blades until the cascade fell back into the water again.

Velvet leaned back until her back was against the tub, arms stretched out on each side, steam rising up from her on all sides.

Armie pulled up a cloth stool beside the tub, it was just the right height for him to be able to reach in and bathe Velvet, rinse her hair and body clean before and after.

 But for now, he just stared at her, eyes closed, knowing her bones and joints were loosening up under the water after hours in heels and a corset, standing, dancing, laughing, and talking; now it was all coming un-done and he had the pleasure to watch it unfurl, to watch her melt under a soothing bath he had prepared for her, he was taking care of her in this very specific way that was just theirs.

He often wished he could do more. He wished the pampering never had to end, that he never had to go to work, sometimes up to 12-15 hours a day downtown, just another Wall Street hack, growing up under his Daddy’s tutelage from local banks owned by the family before being primed and shipped off to the big leagues.

Now he was stuck. Armie was good at getting himself into situations which seemed like a good idea at the time only to find out it was quick sand all along.

Armie would rather do anything; go anywhere, and be anyone, anytime day or night with Velvet than spend another day in a chair on the phone, staring at screens,  watching tickers fly by in red and green letters and numbers, wearing suits that cost more than most people’s rent.

He watched her now, wishing it was diamonds in the tub instead of water and rosemary bubbles. Or maybe milk, maybe gold and silver; something lush and precious, something worthy of her. He would try rose petals next.

Armie wanted to do this, to do something good and useful to balance out all the bullshit he shoveled every day. He wanted to give Velvet everything, even things she did not know she wanted or needed.

“Are you ready?” he whispered and she nodded.

Armie dipped the sponge deep into the water, pulling it out to dowse the top with lavender liquid body wash. He began under Velvet’s chin. Rubbing the skin there until light foam was formed. He ran the sponge around her entire neck and down the middle of her chest.

He felt her breathe in and out again as deep as she could.

Armie could see the bones of her rib cage and he bit his lip, letting one finger trail right to left across a few, letting himself play in the midst of their pleasure.

He felt Velvet hum, and laugh from somewhere deep between the bones Armie touched.

“What are you doing silly boy?” Her voice was light and smooth.

Armie thought of playing it off, thought of being sheepish or saying _Oh I don’t know…_ but he decided to be honest.

“I’m touching you.” He looked directly at her. “I want to touch you more.”

Velvet stared back at him. She removed her hand from the side of the tub, taking Armie’s hand and pushing it lower in the water, past her stomach, through the patch of trimmed dark hair, helping him place his strong fingers around her.

Armie gasped and closed his eyes.  Velvet was warm and soft to the touch, slippery the way skin is under water feels. He let his hands wrap around gently, keeping his eyes on Velvet’s face the entire time.

What he wanted was to undo and rewind time, he wanted Velvet out of the tub and dressed again, just in her panties, maybe heels, and he wanted to be on his knees, pulling the red silk aside to take her in his mouth. That was his favorite way.

But now he was trapped, one hand in the water, wet all the way up to the elbow of his sleeve and Velvet was looking at him, her tongue peeking out one side her lips.

“ _Fuck…”_ Armie’s voice was tight, his body heavy, his own cock so full it hurt.

“What do you want?” Velvet asked.

Armie shook his head.

“Don’t ask me that…”

Velvet took one hand and swished it across the water using just the back of her fingers.

“Why not?”

Armie exhaled, his eyes focused on Velvet’s moving hand now.

“Because…I want a lot of things. I want…” he almost said _bad things_ , _fucked up things,_ but instead he settled on,

“I want everything.”

Velvet nodded. His hand was still wrapped around her and her eyes fluttered back in response, one side of her mouth curled up in a smile. She looked wicked, peaceful.

“Then come here.”

Armie stopped grinding his palm against the base of Velvet’s cock and looked at her.

“What?”

“I said,” Velvet leaned up and pulled on Armie’s shoulders, the shock more than her strength forcing him over into the tub, his tumbling body causing water to flood outside of its marble walls, splashing onto the bathroom floor like a weak tide.

“Come here,” she said after he had landed on top of her, half the water in the tub gone, her slick body stuck to his collared shirt, his silk work pants.

Armie looked down at Velvet who was blinking slowly, seemingly innocent, no idea how she ended up beneath him, grinding her own hips up into his, her hands gripping his ass, her throat on display for him.

“You’re not too tired…too…sore?” He asked.

Velvet didn’t answer by saying yes or no. She reached down to undo Armie’s belt, unzip his pants, shoving a soft, dainty hand down the front, nails grazing the thin skin of his balls, bypassing everything else completely.

Armie’s mouth opened, but there was nothing there, no sound at all. There were delicate fingers on him, but there was also the push and pull of a certain type of pressure against his thigh. It threw his mind into overdrive, too many competing sensations.

He felt as if there was a woman behind him, a man beneath him, one playing, daring to attempt entry, the other lying on their back, pliant, letting him grind against naked skin, running a large hand across smeared make up, pulling at black ringlets, muttering not one name, but two.

~ ~ ~ 

Armie was waiting in bed, undressed; propped up on two pillows, flipping through a magazine that he didn’t even remember subscribing to. His phone lay on the bedside table, charging in airplane mode.

He had helped Velvet out of the tub, wrapping her in a large dark blue towel, patting the sides of her face, drying off her collarbones and neck until she stopped him.

“What? Is something wrong?” Armie’s face was full of quiet alarm. He had overstepped a boundary, crossed some line that he wasn’t even aware of. It had only been a matter of weeks and he was constantly learning; they both were.

She shook her head, no.

“I’ll finish up.”

She gathered up her things and retreated to the smaller guest bathroom and closed the door.

Armie had stood silent, in soaking wet clothes, lost, confused, but content to let her do whatever she needed to do. He heard the quiet muffle of music coming from the other side of the closed bathroom door.

He padded to the bedroom after shedding and tossing his clothes into the tub to deal with tomorrow.

He lay there now, hearing the lock click, and the bathroom door turn, pretending he wasn’t bothered by the fact that Velvet had locked the door.

Armie’s brows were knitted in pretend thought as he read the same sentence over and over again and felt a presence enter the bedroom. The energy had shifted. He looked up and knew instantly what had changed.

It wasn’t Velvet standing there, but Timothee, wet hair falling into his face, a thin silver chain across his collarbones, holding up a pair of Armie’s sweatpants around his waist by the sides and the drawstring which had no chance in hell at helping. They were three to four sizes too big.

Armie smirked.

“Forget to do laundry?”

Timmy gave a smirk right back.

“One of us did.”

Armie closed the magazine, tossing it on the floor.

“It’s your week.” He pulled back the covers, an invitation.

Timmy didn’t hesitate. He slid onto the bed, letting Armie’s pants fall down and off his hips before kicking them all the way off completely with impatient legs. They were lost instantly to the bottom of the bed between layers of sheets and duvet.

“And who comes to bed fully dressed anyway?” Armie was only half-teasing. He reached out, rubbing a hand across his Timmy’s stomach. He wanted to ask about the locked bathroom door but not tonight.

Timmy shrugged “It seemed like a cozy idea at the time but,” he turned to look at Armie, his eyes on his stomach his chest, at Armie’s large hand on his own stomach. Armie liked that he was staring at that, a simple touch and staring at him. He felt like a King, regal.

 “Then I saw you, and thought, well, I can’t roll up wearing Grandpa Pants.”

Armie’s face broke open, eye crinkles on each side, cheeks full of happy, puffed out air, laughing and grabbing at Timmy.

“Oh, fuck you!”

Timmy let himself be grabbed and pulled towards Armie, some kicks and moans in the name of fake resistance, deep laughter, before Armie grabbed one of his hands, locking their fingers.

He looked down to see Timmy had removed Velvet’s red fingernail polish, only smears were left around the cuticles on the thumbs and pinky fingers, mere reminders, hints of the other being who had been there moments before.

Armie raised the messy nails to his lips and kissed the tip of each and every single one while Timmy watched, transfixed, amazed at such a small gesture.

Armie studied Timmy’s face. There was just a bit of mascara smeared at the corners of each eye, but all other traces had been wiped away. There was no lipstick, no perfume on his wrists, no lip gloss, no eyeliner. Armie noticed the holes in his ears were empty and he reached up to thumb the soft skin on the bottom and the top of the lobes.

“You like me like this don’t you?” Timmy’s voice was quiet all of a sudden.

Armie pulled back and stared at him as if he had grown two heads and a tail.

“Is that a serious question? Are you really asking me that?”

Timmy shrugged, turning his nails around to look at their unfinished state.

“I never know. Not because of you but because of everyone else.” He stated it matter of fact like and Armie knew he was speaking from experience.

“What, so people want….one or the other?” He hoped that was the right way to ask such a thing. This was the first time they had this kind of conversation. Armie had thought it would be a while longer, but they were in it now and Timmy had led the way. Armie just hoped he could follow him and not get lost.

Timmy nodded. “Of course. Well, I mean I guess I should say people don’t know what to do with me.” His eyes were on Armie now.

“They know what to do with Velvet, or they know what to do with Timmy but…both?” He shook his head again. “Most people aren’t capable of that. They don’t understand it.”

“They don’t understand you,” Armie said quietly.

Timmy was staring at him now, his eyelids lowering, grateful; relieved.

“No. They don’t.”

Armie pulled him closer, Timmy fitting entirely under his chin, resting his soft, warm skin against Armie’s neck, the rest of his body falling into alignment with Armie’s under the covers.

Armie had so many questions and very few answers from Timmy. He knew Velvet traveled and did shows around the country, the world even, so it was her job but was it also… _part of Timothee?_ Armie thought so.

Or was Timothee part of Velvet? Was it 50/50?  Did any of this even _matter_?

 He had no idea where to begin or even if he should ask, and what he would ask anyway. He would continue to take his cues from Velvet, from Timothee. It didn’t feel like lying down and letting someone control him like his marriage had been. It felt like taking the hand, the body, the heart that was offered and peeking inside when the time was right.

He was willing to be patient.

Timmy was grabbing him closer now, and Armie smiled over the top of his head.

“Well, I’m new at all this, but I’m…I…want…” Armie looked at the wall opposite for a long time, trying to catch his thoughts like dollar bills blown out of a pocket on the city street, desperate and trying to hide it.

“I want to understand all of you.” 

Timmy didn’t say anything for a long time and Armie rolled his eyes, rubbing a hand over them.

“ _Shit.”_

“Jesus Christ what the _fuck_ was that?” Timmy laughed, nipping at the skin in the divet of Armie’s throat, his hands climbing up and down Armie’s back, nails digging in out of glee, joy.

“It was me being a dumbass. Jesus, I sound like a greeting card.”

Timmy was laughing full on now, fists beating light against the spot where Armie’s heart resided.

“Yeah, that was bad,” Armie admitted, wrapping his arms around Timothee again.

Timmy was shaking his damp curls, his forehead now planted between Armie’s collarbones. His voice was muffled, raspy; lips against Armie’s chest.

“Mm…I’m not a card kind of person anyway. I like…roses.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iknowthebattle on Tumblr xx 
> 
> Song that was part of the inspiration behind Velvet:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_A4B0Yc5haU


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who asked about Velvet and thank you most of all for your patience. x

Timothee had spent the morning walking around Armie’s apartment in nothing but boxers and an old t-shirt of Armie’s. It was dark green and said Oakland on the front in yellow. It had a hole on the right shoulder from a late night, careless cigarette burn. Low hanging ashes had fallen off the tip while Armie stood outside a bar talking, ranting, laughing sometime in the summer, cigarette in the corner of his mouth.

He barely remembered that night now.  He had no idea who he had been talking to; those bar patrons long gone in his memory. All he knew was that he enjoyed watching Timothee shrug on the t-shirt that morning while standing on his side of the bed, face puffy from hard sleep, unpolished, unvarnished skin, loose strands of hair covering his face. It hung off of one of his shoulders, stretched with age, Timothee’s small frame even smaller inside of it.

He had worn that shirt the weekend before he had come across Timothee again, before he had met Velvet again in the pizza shop. That seemed like a different time now, the shirt a relic from a past life.

Armie was still in bed, for once he had slept in and Timothee had woken up first. He rubbed his eyes and looked across the ruffled, still warm covers at him.

“I’m going to make some coffee. Do you want toast and bacon?”

Armie made a pleased sound. He was being taken care of this morning, a thank you for last night.

“Mmm…yes please.” He reached out one arm, still lying on his back. “ _Or_ …you could just get back in bed?”

Timothee shook his head, a shy smile under a curtain of curls.

“We have a big day ahead of us,” he softly reminded Armie.

Armie smiled.

“Yes, we do.”

They were taking a road trip upstate for the long weekend. Velvet was going on a small month long tour and Armie had debated how to spend the time between now and then.

Velvet had decided a trip upstate was perfect.

“It’ll be like in the movies…” she had mused sitting in Armie’s lap on the couch one evening.

“You know…like when the cute little couples would go to some state park and have a picnic, get out of the city, escape the humidity and pollution…maybe have a milkshake at the little soda shop, go to a drive-in for Labor Day weekend with the kids.”

Armie had laughed, his nose nuzzled behind one of her ears, a silver hoop earring hanging down, cool on his cheek.

“You make it sound like its 1950 or something,” but he didn’t hate the idea, was not quick to look away from the fantasy.

He lay in bed for a few moments more, listening to the sounds of Timothee puttering around the kitchen, the sound of the coffee pot, the pop and sizzle of bacon. Eventually the smells pulled him from between the covers. He walked with heavy, sleepy steps onto the hardwood floors into the kitchen.

He knew Timothee was smiling even though his back was to him.

“I knew if anything could get you out of bed, it would be bacon.”

Armie slid up behind him, wrapping both arms around his waist.

“I could make a really bad joke about meat right now but…”

Timothee rolled his eyes and Armie laughed against his neck.

“Can you get out the plates and forks?”

Armie reluctantly pulled away, a child pouting, sent away to do their chores.

“Yes sir…yes sir…whatever you say.”

He set out two plate settings at his kitchen island counter before pouring himself a cup of coffee the size of his head.

“Do you want?” He asked, holding up the French press in Timothee’s direction.

He shook his head. “Tea for me. Irish Breakfast, please.”

Armie set about prepping the kettle to boil, working side by side with Timothee. He had not imagined sharing his kitchen, breakfast duties with another person so soon after his divorce. His plan to remain alone, maybe travel,  hang out with his kids when it was his turn, read a lot of books, try a lot of new whiskeys had for the most part taken a major detour.

He watched Timothee work to clean up the grease filled pan in the sink. Armie reached up into the cabinet over the stove to retrieve a box of Timothee’s tea amongst the larger collection, all for him. Timothee and Velvet had lived in London for 6 months and now both were addicted though Velvet would sometimes take an espresso or latte when the mood struck.

 Armie realized that he now not only shared breakfast duties and cabinet space, but also a bed, a home, a body, three bodies as one.

He closed his eyes and drank his coffee slowly, letting the caffeine jolt his bones and nerve endings to life while Timothee carefully filled their plates.

The toast popping up out of the toaster, the scrape of butter and marmalade jam against the crisp bread, the ease of Timothee’s hot water being poured into and against the tea bag was a domestic symphony to Armie’s ears.

Armie used to dread mornings, hectic, loud; messy, running out the door to work, his tie askew, mismatched socks and one or both of the kids hanging onto his legs or waist, crying because they didn’t want him to go or because their breakfast wasn’t to their liking or any other number of reasons depending on the day.

Now there was this; the quiet hum of Timothee cleaning up the kitchen and then sliding up and onto the stool beside Armie, his bare feet swinging, Armie’s on the rungs below.

They ate mostly in silence. There were occasional grunts of approval from Armie and Timothee stealing one last piece of bacon off of Armie’s plate.

They cleaned up their plates together, the gentle whirr of the dishwasher filling the kitchen alongside Armie’s daily dose of NPR as Timothee wiped down the counters one last time.

“A dishwasher in a New York apartment,” Timothee mused aloud, one side of his mouth curved up into a grin.

Armie slapped him on the ass with the edge of a dishtowel.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Timothee, Velvet would tease him about the spaciousness, the newness of his place, only out of love and a little bit of jealousy. They had spent a few nights in their much smaller apartment and Armie felt constrained, but said nothing, ashamed to admit he was uncomfortable in a smaller, older space that hadn’t been remodeled since the 1970’s.

So they found comfort here instead with Armie’s marble countertops and central air conditioning.

Timothee and Armie took turns loading the rental car, each walking down with two bags, taking the elevator back up again until the backseat and trunk were full.

“Jesus, it looks like we’re going away for a month,” Armie commented. He slammed the back door after the last bag was shoved inside.

Timothee stood on the sidewalk, twisting his body at the hip, looking at Armie.

“We have a lot of baggage,” he half-joked. He was cutting the nervous tension with a smirk, a twist of the hips, his bottom lip being sucked up into his mouth.  

Armie softened instantly.

“No I mean…its fine. I want you, _us_ , to do whatever we want this weekend.”

Timothee smiled. “Just this weekend?”

Armie came around the back of the car and grabbed Timothee around the waist, almost lifting him off the ground.

“No, not just the weekend.” He hesitated for a moment but then, “always. We can always do whatever we want. All of us.”

Timothee looked at him, wide eyed, a look of softness and tenderness that belonged to just Timothee.  Then there was a momentary flash of satisfaction that came directly from Velvet grazing directly over Armie’s face. She approved. Armie felt a flush hit his body from his temple to his toes.

Timothee was light and happy in his arms now and Armie held him like that for a few more moments before letting go, jogging up the steps to lock up and head back down again, the keys jingling in his hand as he walked over to the driver’s side.

Armie let the seat back as far as it would go and Timothee smiled from the passenger’s seat.

“Do they even make cars for big enough for you?”

Armie smiled, started the engine.

“It’s fine. I’m used to squeezing into tight spaces.”

Timothee rolled his eyes but they both laughed at this new thing, this new adventure, another barrier broken through, their lungs full of air and joy, Timothee mumbling _you’re insane_ between gasping for air.

Armie smiled at him as he tuned up and down narrow Manhattan streets, headed for the highway.

~~~~

They drove for a bit while talking, Timothee full of energy, going a mile a minute about everything from the song of the radio before plugging in his IPhone to how people lived in the middle of nowhere and what kept them there, were they happy?

“I don’t know. I mean my family lived-lives in Texas and Louisiana and the middle of nowhere is exactly where they belong.”

Armie let the small truths slip out as he drove, lulled into honesty by the steady hum of the road.

Timothee was quiet for a long time before he spoke.

“Do you ever see them?”

Armie shrugged hands at 2 and 10 on the wheel.

 

“Maybe once a year, Christmas or Thanksgiving. They like to the see the kids.”

At this, Timothee reached over into the space between them, pulling out his leather wallet from the cup holder, flipping it open to a picture of Harper and Ford.

“These two, you mean?”

Armie glanced over, smiling, big, broad; proud.

“Yes. Those two. It’s magic and mayhem with those two.”

Timothee stared at the photo for a long time. Armie knew he had seen photos of them around the apartment; on the fridge and in his office, on his desk in a frame.

“They both look like you. But in different ways.”

Armie let that compliment settle inside his chest, his mind.

“Thank you,” was all he could come up with.

Timothee quietly tucked the wallet into the console between them.

Armie felt Timothee’s hand covering his own which now rested on his thigh. He left it there until they stopped for gas.

Armie filled the tank to full while Timothee hopped out and ran inside the store, the bell jingling as he glided through the glass door.

He returned to the car moments later holding a bottle of Sprite, a package of Airheads and a can of Sour Cream and Onion Pringles under his arm. He was waving something in the air at Armie as he crossed the parking lot.

Armie squinted before finally realizing what it was.

“Another hat?” A smile. “You sure you need that?”

Timothee shrugged, sliding back into the passenger’s seat and buckling his seat belt before ripping off the $5.99 tag with his teeth. He placed the hat proudly on top of his bouncy curls.

“I’m going to get something to remember every trip we take.”

Armie looked closer at the hat on Timothee’s head, trying not to linger on what he had just said.

The hat was blue, with a bald eagle carrying an American flag in its beak, bold letters across the front that read _God Bless America!_

Armie laughed as Timothee popped three Pringles into his mouth. It made Timothee laugh too, little specks of sour cream and onion dust crumbs covering the front of his shirt, the tops of his jeans, the dashboard.

“You’re something else,” Armie admitted pulling back out onto the highway.

Timothee sank down into the seat, content, lowering the hat over his eyes.

~ ~ ~

Armie unloaded most of the bags from the car while Timothee rushed inside ahead of him, turning the key in the lock with glee. The Airbnb was just the spacious, but cozy cottage that Armie had seen online.

He had shown Velvet the photos on his phone in bed one night. She had let out a small gasp, then a contended sigh, childlike wonder all over her face, bits of Timothee creeping in, as she touched the screen with long, delicate fingers.

“That’s it, Armie,” she had whispered, one painted hand resting gently inside the crook of his arm. Her eyes had looked over the hot tub, the endless kitchen, the fire place with delight.

Armie’s mind had been racing the whole time too. He knew Timothee loved it too, would probably have said _“Armie, that’s insane!”_ in a raspy, high pitched whisper.

He had booked the cabin upstate immediately for the long Labor Day weekend. He had gone grocery shopping the day before they left, filling his cart with steaks, ribs, vegetables, and whiskey. Timothee had come home, grocery bags tied around each wrist, the insides containing fruit, eggs, syrup, pancake mix, wine, bubble bath and two portable phone chargers.

Armie had hugged him around the waist when he walked in the door, shaking his head, grateful he knew what else they needed, knew what Armie had forgotten to buy. Timothee had laughed and put his head down on Armie’s shoulder, wrapping his long arms around Armie’s neck.

“I want this to be special,” he had said, his voice quiet, slurred words against Armie’s collarbone, light spit wetting a sport on his t-shirt.

“It’s our first time away…” but Timothee didn’t need to explain further. Armie had nodded, taking him into the bedroom, no more discussion needed.

Now they were here, the car unloaded, Timothee had gone about setting up the living room, kitchen and bedroom with their things. He had pulled out two glasses from the cabinet above the sink. He pulled a bottle of whiskey from one of the bags as Armie was bent over, lighting, then stoking the fire.

Armie didn’t hear any further glass clinking or pouring and he turned around to see what the holdup was when he saw Timothee looking at him, his jaw set, mouth determined, clearly up to something, his mind preoccupied, elsewhere.

“What?” Armie was smiling, curious.

Timothee bit at his own lips, shrugged, palms on the counter.

“I…want to make dinner tonight.”

Armie was momentarily surprised but recovered quickly, nodding, hands in his pockets.

“Okay. Okay. Sure. That’s new but…you…mean like cook or…I’m happy to grill for us-“

“No.” Timothee’s voice was strong, unwavering.

“I want to do it by myself.” He motioned with his head and shoulder towards the door.

“I saw a bar a few miles back on the way here. Why don’t you go there, meet the locals and come back in a couple of hours?”

Armie looked at him; blank faced, a little confused, unmoored.

“A bar? A few miles away? I um…I guess I could do that. Any particular reason why?” Armie was already calculating the hours spent away and he dreaded every bit of it. They were here now and settled in. He wanted to stay.

Timothee wasn’t looking at him now.

“I’m not trying to get rid of you…” Timothee’s voice faded, but Armie knew he meant it.

He didn’t ask why again, just nodded. He walked over to where he had left his boots by the front door. He checked his back pockets for his wallet, grabbed the keys.

“Alright then, I’m headed out.”

He stood by the door, holding it open, looking at Timothee who walked over. He kissed him deep and full on the mouth, running his hands around and under the waist band of his jeans.

“You gotta be kidding me right now….” Armie murmured, his large hands reaching around to cover Timothee’s ass, pulling him close. Screw the bar.

Timothee pulled back, sliding one hand over Armie’s tan stomach.

“Two hours. That’s all I need.” His words were a promise and Armie believed him, trusted him.

“Yeah but…this is all I’ve been thinking about since we got in the car…” Armie rumbled, letting another truth, this one, dressed in desire and heat roll off his tongue.

Timothee grinned, shaking his head.

“Why didn’t you say something? We coulda stopped for more than gas and soda…I thought you had your fill this morning.”  Timothee was still smiling, hanging from Armie’s neck by his wrists, feet on the tops of Armie’s.

Armie laughed, rolled his shoulders. “No such thing.”

 What he wanted to say was he had been with Timothee that morning and Velvet the night before, but wanted more of both. He wanted to tell him that he could never get enough of one or the other, that he wanted it all the time, any place, anywhere, whatever they wanted to give him was fine, but he wanted his cup full to the brim.

But they weren’t there yet; at least Armie was still nervous to peel that layer away; exposing raw skin, broken vessels underneath.

“But you gotta go,” Timothee said with a tone, a sense of temporary finality, removing his arms from around Armie’s neck, taking several conscious steps back and away from him.

Armie was nodding. “Yeah, yeah so you say. I’m going, I’m going.”

He waved, not trying for another kiss because he would never get out the door to let Timothee do whatever it was he was going to do.

Armie climbed into the car, searching Yelp for the closest bar, annoyed at the slow reception as soon as he was alone. He finally found what he assumed Timothee had seen on the way in, and plugged in the address. It took his phone a full three minutes to load the map and directions. Unbelievable.

It was a total dive, but the beer was 3 bucks and it was nice to not spend $200 on alcohol on a single night out. One could manage that without blinking in the City.

Armie propped himself up on a stool in the bar, his elbows sticking to the top before he quickly removed them, wiping a cheap, paper thin napkin over the space in front of him, sliding it under his bottle of beer where it stuck to the cold glass every time he picked it up.

The bar was mostly empty, it was too early for the locals to be there on a Friday night and thankfully the bartender pretended not to notice him, instead choosing to play Words with Friends on his phone, dish towel tucked into the back pocket of his black jeans.

The place reminded him of bars in Texas he would sneak off to with a fake ID when his parents were out at cocktail parties or Republican Party fund raising dinners. They spent their weekends in Texas with him, but their weeks in Manhattan because well, duty called and work came first, only second to God and Country. Armie would have been just as happy if they had never come back. He often envied and wanted to be Kevin from _Home Alone._

_I made my family disappear…._

Armie always felt better in this world, dirty floors, cheap beer, and half-cooked steaks. But he didn’t live in this world, and he never had. He would pretend when he was younger, lay on a thicker accent, play pool and shoot the shit with the best of them. But it was never fully his, he never really belonged, he simply knew how to wear the costume and play the part. His friends all came from the private school he attended from kindergarten until he went away to college. Well, except Ash. Ash came from a dumpster inside a trailer park as far as Armie could tell.

After his third beer, Armie looked at the time on his phone. Ten more minutes. He should go now, while he could still drive. He paid in cash, leaving a big tip and hurried out before it was noticed or seen.

The drive back to the cabin found him nervous, eager. He liked that Timothee had sent him away; the thought of him being alone doing God knows what while Armie was gone paired well with the warm buzz from the beer sitting in his stomach, chest and legs. He was hard the entire drive.

He pulled up to the cabin, tires over gravel, trying his best to walk calmly to the front door, actually counting his steps in case Timothee was watching.

He unlocked the door and poked his head inside.

“Hey-O!” Armie hated himself the instant that fell out of his mouth. He sounded like every cheesy Dad in the world.

The cabin smelled wonderful. The smell of cooking was mixed with candles and there were flowers on the kitchen counter, on the coffee table in the living room.

Armie noticed something hanging from one of the cabinet knobs by the door. It was one of his suits, complete with pants, dress shirt, tie and jacket. A pair of dress shoes and socks sat on the floor beneath the ensemble. There was a note attached around the hanger.

He walked over and grabbed the note, reading it quickly, his face flushing red, toes curling in his boots.

_Welcome home, darling. I washed and pressed your favorite suit. I would have left it lying out on the bed for you like usual, but this will have to do. Get dressed and when you’re ready, ring the doorbell. Leave your clothes by the door. I’ll take care of them. All my love, Velvet._

It was written in deep red ink and smelled like perfume, a lipstick mark beside her name.

Armie looked up from the note, confused. The cabin seemed empty. He looked around. No sign of Timothee or Velvet. He put the note on the counter, and picked up the suit, considering it, looking around the cabin once more before slipping out of his shoes, his pants and changing into the ensemble she had selected for him.

He left his clothes where Velvet had requested and opened the door, looking outside, maybe Timothee or Velvet were out there waiting for him. But no, there was just quiet.

Armie stepped outside, closing the door softly behind him. He straightened his coat and tie, using the window as a mirror. He took a deep breath, counted to ten in his head before ringing the doorbell.

He heard muted sounds from inside, bustling about, glasses clinking; the click clack of shoes on the floor.  

Armie swallowed, nervous all of a sudden. There was no reason to be anxious. This was Velvet, he knew her. He knew Timothee, at least as much as they had let him in. This was all so new. But this felt different, exciting, like another part of Velvet he had not seen, a game only she knew how to play.

The door opened and Armie caught his breath on the inhale, nearly choking on air.

Velvet stood there, wearing a baby blue dress that looked like it was from the 1950’s, cinched at the waist with a matching belt, soft pink flowers all over in a pattern starting at the shoulders, running down the ¾ inch sleeves, wrapping around her waist and down and around the front and back of the dress which was held up by layers of white netting making the bottom flare away from her legs.

Armie looked down at her shoes, high heels, pink with lace around the outside, lining her foot. Her hair was pulled up and away from her face with a pink lace headband, curls pushed out on either side. Soft pink blush lined the high parts of her cheekbones, mascara and eyeliner like always, a light pink lip gloss coated her lips.

“Welcome home, honey.”

Velvet pulled him inside and closed the door behind him. She kissed him once on each cheek, and pulled him close for a quick peck on the mouth. He licked his bottom lip, tasting her lip gloss.

“Let me take your jacket.” She began to help him shrug out of the coat he had put on minutes before, hanging it on the rack by the door. He looked down. His clothes were gone from the floor.

“I made your favorite, Garlic Cheddar Chicken with mashed potatoes, and green beans. I know, I know they’re vegetables, but you need them.”

Velvet had walked into the kitchen, Armie trailing behind, sort of in a fantasy fog. That wasn’t his favorite meal, but it didn’t seem to matter. This was…something Velvet wanted to do and now he wanted it to, whatever it was.

“And I bought your favorite whiskey,” Velvet pulled out a bottle from the cabinet, pouring some into a glass and walking over to him, hand underneath. He noticed her nails were painted pale pink.

He took a long sip, the bitter, honey taste touching his tongue and the back of his throat. This really was his favorite whiskey. Hints of reality in the midst of make believe.

“Sit down and tell me all about your day,” Velvet insisted, holding his free hand. She led them over to the table that was set with food in the middle, candles, and more flowers. Armie marveled at how and where all of this had been stored in the car, how much thought had been given to this, the planning, right down to sending Armie away so she could prepare this for him.

“My day?” he settled into a chair across the table. Armie immediately missed being next to her. He unfolded a cloth napkin across his lap. He could feel the heat from the food. She had timed everything perfectly.

Velvet began serving him from each bowl on the table, passing him salt and pepper, Armie thinking of ways to describe the bar and the beers he had, the drive there and back, stammering, drinking whiskey between each sentence.

Velvet shook her head, sipping her glass of red wine. She waved one hand in his direction.

“No, no I meant at the office….how was work today? Is Frank still giving you problems? How was the train ride in?”

Armie opened his mouth, said nothing, just blinked at her, smoothing out the napkin in his lap over and over again.

“I-I…I uh….well…” Armie looked at Velvet, seeing her through new eyes, the eyes of this scene they were both mutually inside of, who she wanted them to be right now.  This was what she wanted tonight; this imagined exchange, this is the world she liked to play in, a world she knew well, a realm of dress up and banter, but she was real. She was flesh and bone and meant every word; everything was tangible even though she lived on stage, danced in light and glitter. She came home to him, was content to love him in shadows.

“Well…today was…crazy busy. Frank was on my ass all day…about the…report that needs editing by Monday.” Armie finished his whiskey. “I mean, can you believe that jack ass? Wanting me to work on a long, holiday weekend?” He shook his head.

Velvet made a tisk-tisk noise with her tongue and teeth, hand under her chin, listening to his every word.

“I always did dislike Frank. He flirted with me at the Christmas party last year.”

Armie paused, but found words faster than he had before. He was in deep now. He loved this. She probably knew he would.

“See? He’s a moron. And why didn’t you tell me? If I had known…” he balled up a fist on the table, neck turning red at the thought of someone slipping up behind Velvet, handing her a drink, arm around her waist, telling terrible jokes. The thought made him want to hurl the table across the room at this imaginary man.

“Nonsense, it was nothing. I laughed it off and made my way over to you. Don’t you remember? You were across the room, talking to your co-workers, and I came over, put my head on your shoulder, then we danced to that silly Bing Crosby song…”

Armie’s eyes turned to glass picturing everything she said. He drank in the images, making them his own, placing them at the front of his mind.

They finished the meal, and took turns talking, Velvet about her day at home, the errands she ran and the chores she did, Armie talking about his fictional job in publishing or sales, it didn’t matter, he talked and Velvet responded in kind with laughter, soft and bright. She asked Armie questions that made him feel important, made him feel like someone else, someone new.

“Wow, someone was hungry,” Velvet commented as Armie finished his second plate.

“Desert is apple pie a la mode. I hope you have room.”

Velvet was getting up to clear the dishes, but Armie touched her wrist, stopping her.

“Thank you.” His voice was low, sincerely grateful; not ready for the night to end.

Velvet put her hand over his, rubbing the skin there.

“Of course my love.”

Armie looked at her, using that word, wanting to ask who was saying that, did they, did she mean it. But he didn’t. Armie wanted to revel in the moment, in the moments before and the moments to come.

“Leave the dishes.”  It wasn’t a suggestion and Velvet nodded.

“Whatever you want, my dear.”

Armie stared at her mouth, the way her tiny hand sat on top of his, how her waist sat in the dress. Instead of standing up, Armie slid slowly from his chair, down onto the floor, on his knees, hands on his thighs.

Velvet stood above him, perfectly balanced on her heels, a rose pink and sky blue tower.

Armie reached for the edge of her dress, tugging her towards him.

“I’d like to see what’s under there,” he whispered.

Velvet nodded again.

“I want you to.”

Armie took a deep breath.

“Am I your husband?” He asked, hands on her knees, he found thin hairs there, smooth on the back side.

Velvet smiled, placed her hand on the crown of his head, knighting him with consent, permission, pleasure.

“Silly man. Of course you are. And I’m your wife.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, but I felt it was important to isolate the (intimate, important) things that take place here. Thank you as always for reading and sharing your love, your own stories, and thoughts. X

Armie was on his knees, debating, wishing; cursing himself for not having an actual ring to give her, but that was insane. That was too much, beyond play acting, beyond playing dress up.

He swallowed, looking up at Velvet from his place on the floor. She was expecting something, for him to touch her like he wanted, since he had asked, to touch her like she wanted.

Armie had asked if he could see what was under her dress, but he already knew. He wanted to see it again and again, to see and explore every part of her a thousand times over until he lost his sight or his nerve endings rubbed to bone.

He touched both ankles with his hands, letting them rest there, light touches. Velvet stood with her feet just a few inches apart, toes turned inward from her years as a ballet dancer as a child.

Armie’s hands slid upward again, just a bit, then further until they rested on her knees again, palms on the front, fingers wrapped around the back.

He was looking up at her, reverent, his hold on her legs keeping him in place, grounded.

Armie moved his hands, his arms lifting up the front of her dress until it was at her thighs.

“You can keep going darling,” she whispered.

Armie nodded, hands gliding over the tops of her thighs until the tips of his fingers found what felt like silk or satin, thin, two strings up high on her hip bones.

“Jesus,” he breathed.

There was something so different about this time, so outside of Armie’s comfort zone, outside of what he knew. He had seen Velvet in nearly all states of dress and un-dress but this, playing the role of the dominant husband on his knees, pulling at his wife’s panties, was something new altogether. He had never been allowed this before

Armie was sure he was not in charge no matter how it may look on the surface.

He pushed her dress up more until the front of her panties were in view, pink satin, baby blue bows at the hip, a thong. He felt dizzy, flush with lust, an animal being held back by a leash of his own making, leather and metal.

He held everything in place, one hand holding up her dress, the other tugging on one side of the satin, a finger teasing one of her bows.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Armie let himself admit, as if it were a surprise, something she didn’t already know, couldn’t believe he had never said it before because it had been true from day one. He had vanished in desire, mesmerized since he first saw her swinging above him, dressed head to toe in black and red, the name Velvet matching her black velvet coat, her glass of wine, not taking off her gloves to drink it. He remembered everything. No detail had gone unnoticed.

He felt the same now, knowing that he would recall every sensation, every word of conversation spoken over the dinner she had made for him. He would remember the feeling now of the hardwood floor under his knees, the feel of her skin and the satin under his touch, the look on her face as her mouth fell open, wanting more, shifting her hips closer to him, arching her back so he could see everything, touch anything he wanted.

He would remember the curl that kept falling down over her painted eye, rebellious, hateful of its restriction.

“I’m here,” she reminded him quietly.

Armie pulled down both sides of her panties, only halfway, just to watch, touching the base of her cock, feeling his own nearly break through the seams of his slacks. He was in pain, no blood left in his head or chest.

“Should we go to the bedroom?” He could hardly form words at this point, his throat parchment paper.

But Velvet shook her head.

Armie knew what she wanted, what he wanted to give her.

He flattened his hand over the front of her thong, the head of her cock sticking out, just as soft the fabric straining to cover it.

“Leave them on please, my love…” she reached down to touch the side of his face, where his hair stopped at his temple, painted nails lightly scratching down the side of wet skin.

Armie kissed her stomach, feeling the muscles under his lips shudder. He rubbed his nose back and forth beneath her belly button, his lips tracing uneven patterns and lines down, light kisses on the most tender of her, tiny kisses and long licks here and there, in the crevices between her inner thigh and cock, loving her the way he would both man and woman and all of the other parts of Velvet that need not be named or branded.

Armie took her in his mouth, bit by bit, hearing her soft moans and sighs, looking up to see her pleasure, her jaw relaxed, both hands on his shoulders, then the sides of his head, gripping, pulling at the hair behind his ears, the hair on the back of his head that he was letting grow long for now. Velvet joked he looked like an actor from the early 80’s, a time neither of them were even alive.

 _“How do you know that I wasn’t around somewhere, somehow?”_ She had asked.

Armie had no answer for that. Velvet seemed eternal, universal, an unexplored planet that had always existed.

There were tiny thrusts coming from her now, one foot lifted off the floor, her heel making a soft clank when it landed.

Armie let her dress fall and cover him now, his head and shoulders underneath, his mouth devouring her from the tip to the base, only slightly choking.

He coughed, removing his head from under the bottom of her dress, his face flushed, slightly embarrassed.

“I’m getting there,” he panted, proud that he had managed to take all of her on more than one occasion now.

Velvet smiled, so pure, so genuine, that Armie could only stand, grab her around waist, and walk her back towards the counter until her lower spine rested against it.

“Here?” he whispered.

Velvet nodded; arms around his shoulders, head tilted back, looking at him, lips parted; waiting.

Armie lifted her gently until she was sitting on top of the counter, feet no longer touching the ground, one shoe falling off of her heel, hanging on by her toes only. She left it there.

He slid into the space between her legs, hands still on her waist.

“Mmm,” his voice was a murmur against her neck; his face tucked and nestled in under her ear, lips playing below her lobe where perfume soaked into the skin.

Velvet leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, laying her forehead on his collarbone. She moved her head back and forth, little moans escaping her mouth at just this much, at this amount of touch alone, the ridges of Armie’s bones rolling over her smooth skin.

“Tell me what you want,” Armie whispered, nudging her with his nose.

Velvet wrapped her legs around the backs of his knees, hands on his back.

“Right here, just like this,” she said quietly, demure, playing the part she had so carefully crafted just for the three of them.

Armie felt her reach down; unfastened his belt and buttons, lithe fingers on his zipper letting it down all the way, careful, but well versed.

Velvet’s hands on him made his legs shake, weak, hands now holding onto the counter for support.

“Oh you give up too easy,” she hummed.

Her skin felt like silk gloves as she stroked him, so slowly it actually pained him, sharp spasms in his gut. He was leaning into her, rolling his hips. She was staring at him, pouty pink lips like a bow perfectly tied at the bottom of her face.

“Just push this to the side,” she instructed, taking one of his hands, helping him move her satin out of the way, tucked away neatly, and giving him full access.

He would leave the dress on. That had been her plan, her wish all along.

Velvet giggled behind her hand, breaking the thick air with innocent glee.  

“I’m finally tall enough for this, can you believe it?”

Armie almost opened his mouth to argue, but realized this was his wife he was talking to, short and tiny, needy and waiting.

Armie took a deep breath, reaching for the lube she had placed on the counter but she took it from him gently. She then took his fingers, one, and then two coating them with the cool gel.

She spread her legs, holding his hand, sliding her hips down on the counter, head back against the cabinet, guiding his fingers toward her.

“Oh fuck, Velvet….” Armie loved saying her name, loved how she helped him, how it was one of her fingers and one of his inside her to start, then another one of his, three in all, _three_ , a number that followed them everywhere.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Armie moved his fingers in and out of her, feeling her finger trapped between his. She let her head fall back all the way, eyes closed, lips parted, teeth together, heels knocking against the cupboards below in time with their fingers.

“Let me carry you into our bedroom, like I did over the threshold…on our wedding day…” Armie pleaded, working hard to put coherent thoughts and words together.

His fingers were inside her all the way up to his knuckle, finding her spot, her whimpers and kicks louder now.

Velvet opened her eyes, managing to raise a single finger to press into his chest.

“Don’t you dare Mister. We did that on our wedding night. Now it’s time for something new.” She paused, tracing her finger down his shirt.

“Stand me up and turn me around.”

Armie couldn’t move his or her limbs fast enough, lifting her off the counter, turning her to face away from him, lifting her dress, pulling her thong to the side in the back now.

His hands were shaking as he gripped his cock, placing it inside of her slowly; each inch produced a moan from Velvet, higher and higher in pitch, now her nails clawed at the counter top, her feet in heels firmly on the kitchen floor she had spent all day cleaning, Armie thought, looking down.

He was wholly at home and at peace in her game.

Armie watched as he slid in and out, then down at her feet, and back up to her hair, the back of her neck where he rested his mouth, eventually placing his hands over hers, her fingers gripping the cabinet knobs now.

He closed his eyes, coming so quickly, filling her up in a way he had never imagined, her dress bunched up between their bodies. He didn’t pull out right away, instead letting himself fall against her back as she supported him, held him up, breathing in time with one another.

Velvet pulled both of his hands to her chest and folded their fingers together, holding them there over her heart, letting Armie empty himself out and come clean to the only person not afraid to see him hollow, washed out.

~ ~ ~

Velvet stripped out of her dress and slipped out of her heels with Armie’s help, no words spoken, but he knew her ritual by now.

She would retreat to the bathroom, alone with her music, and emerge when she or Timothee were ready, and Armie would be there waiting with open arms; sometimes with a glass of rum and coke or sprite, maybe a cup of tea or a glass of wine in bed or on the couch, reading, warming up a spot beside him with a blanket.

But Velvet left a trail of clothes and shoes behind her, walking naked towards the bathroom, stopping at the bathroom door to look over her shoulder at Armie. She didn’t go in, did not close the door. She only stood there, watching him, an invitation.

He walked over on timid feet, leaving behind his own shirt and pants, shoes and socks and followed her into what was usually her sanctuary, closing the door behind them.

Armie was behind Velvet while she stood in front of the mirror, under vanity lights, wiping at her eyes with make-up remover wipes, swiping them across her entire face, even her lips. She turned on the tap, splashing her face, eventually turning off the faucet, blinking water away instead of using a towel.

He watched as she opened the glass door, starting the shower, testing the pressure and temperature with her hand before stepping in. Armie watched as she left the shower door open for him, steam filling up the glass of the mirror she had just used.

He climbed in without a word; neither of them spoke as Velvet reached for the bar of soap, bottle of shampoo, a tube of face wash; all the things she had placed in the shower while Armie was gone.

Theirs was a vow of silence, Armie respecting what he was being allowed to witness, the transformation, the scrubbing away of thin, outside layers.

He bathed himself as well, taking turns under the spray of water, bodies brushing up against one another.

Velvet turned her face up to look at him, washed clean, a smile, only the smallest specks of mascara and eyeliner dotting her eyelids, her lashes, but one, two rough scrubs with the bath cloth erased those too.

Armie watched as she stepped out of the shower first, reading the movement of her back. She waited there to be wrapped in a towel, but as always, let him take his time.

~ ~ ~

The bedroom was lit only by the lamp light from the living room coming in through the half-open door, the green numbers of the clock reading 3:32 a.m.

Armie stared at the time, blinking slowly, his body stirring, just as restless as his mind. He could sleep anywhere so this was unusual, but everything about this was outside of usual, outside of normal.

He felt as if he was inside a haunted house, but the ghosts and goblins hidden in the walls and hallways were sweet and giving, stalking his desires, tempting and pleasing him, knowing they would get pleasure in return, equal sacrifice, each trapped by their own cravings.

Armie rolled over, the sheets making a soft crinkle sound that let him know the bed was rarely used, it always stayed perfectly made.

Armie could see the outline of this dual-spirit, his best person, their body, warm, loved flesh beside him. He smiled; the room so quiet his mouth made a noise similar to the sheets; crinkling, rarely pulled up.

He wanted more, was ready to give and receive again.

Velvet was on her stomach in bed, arms bent at the elbow, hands flat on the sheets, near her mass of curls. Armie ran his hand over the smooth skin on her back, gently turning her around to lie on her back.

Her body began to move, half-way turned around but two arms grabbed Armie by the elbows, head pulled up off the bed, neck muscles strained, chest and cheeks blotchy with anticipation in the faint light.

“You can do it harder than that, I know you can,” The voice was deep again, grip tight, eyes searching; _Timothee._

Armie felt a lit spark blow across his chest, down his stomach to the tip of his cock.

“What?” His voice was gravel though he had barely slept.

Timothee swallowed, nodded.

“As hard as you can.”

Armie’s mouth went numb, animal need coating his tongue, teeth, the roof of his mouth like Novocain.

“A-are you sure?”

Timothee squeezed the tops of Armie’s arms as hard as he could. He shook his head.

“I’ve seen the books on your shelves, you’ve talked about it.”

“The ropes?” Armie’s voice was nearly lost to the sound of Timothee’s jagged breathing, eager, ready.

“Not this time, the other thing.”

Armie groaned, shoving Timothee down onto the bed, pulling and pushing all of his weight down on top of him. He wrapped both hands around Timothee’s neck, they could nearly wrap around twice, putting pressure there, testing the boundaries.

“Armie….please…” Timothee panted, hands clawing up Armie’s chest, eyes wide, shoving his hips up.

“More?”

Timothee nodded as much as he could; grabbing at Armie’s waist, digging his freshly washed nails deep into the skin of Armie’s ass.

Armie applied more pressure, then again until half of his knuckles were turning white. He could see Timothee’s flat chest moving up and down, bird like, but broad shoulders up top no longer tucked into a tailored dress, his dual silver chain necklaces spread out across ivory skin.

“Timothee…tell me…when…” _Tell me everything…_ the other half of an unfinished thought, but Armie had a solitary focus for now.

Timothee shook his head. Armie felt a firm and steady hand on his cock, not moving,  holding him there, possessive, in control.

“I’ll…let you know….always…” Timothee’s words were messy, and Armie believed him.

Armie was holding him captive, only it wasn’t depleting life, but giving birth to a stowed away wish Timothee knew he had.

Armie closed his eyes, imagining Velvet in the corner of the room watching this scene play out before her, satisfied, smoking, just like Timothee, legs crossed, content to let him take over. It was his turn.

And when Timothee climbed on top, holding Armie’s hands in place on his neck and began to ride him not like a boy, not like Velvet, but like a man, thirsty, and impatient, Armie felt like a man taken, maybe even possessed, driven mad by twin bliss.

He wondered if instead he was the ghost, floating above scorched earth, set alight by Timothee and Velvet, the flames on the ground there not to destroy and conquer, but to light his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iknowthebattle on Tumblr. X


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timothee's turn and some history. X

Armie was alone in his apartment. He was lying in bed, having a lazy morning. He had been back at work a week, leaving the long weekend behind what seemed like years ago. It felt like it had been a fever dream. For a couple of days he had been allowed to become, to be someone else. It was just a cabin a few hours away, but it may as well have been another planet for Armie.

That weekend had left him with a strange, new kind of confidence, a lack of shame in his desires. He wanted to keep playing in new sandboxes with Velvet, with Timothee, with himself, making up people, places and things in his own head. He too wanted to create new worlds. Armie had ideas of his own.  

His apartment felt strangely still, the lack of another figure, another person; the people he wanted there noticeably absent. Armie didn’t want to get up, did not want to make coffee and get dressed. He didn’t want to sit at a desk all day or have beers with his co-workers after work.

He had ideas, alright.

He wanted to be Velvet’s husband, coming home to her at the end of the day, being kissed by her on his way out the door each morning having just eaten pancakes and bacon together, she having poured him fresh squeezed orange juice. He wanted to run errands with Timothee, spending way too much time at Bed Bath and Beyond deciding which tea press to get, Timothee telling Armie how a white couch was always a bad idea especially with two young kids with the click of his tongue and shrugging shoulders.

Armie wanted to be in Rome and southern Spain with them both, wine drunk and sun kissed; Timothee, with his loose curls and boyish steps across church steps and museum floors during the day, Velvet in endless silk and see through, backless dresses of black and red in wine bars, holding her heels in one hand on the shore at night.

Yes, the apartment was very empty, completely still and silent save the light hum of morning traffic outside his window.

Timothee had spent the evening at his own place, packing for his upcoming month long trip, taking Velvet on the road with her burlesque show. Armie could only imagine the amount of suitcases and bags that would show up at his apartment later.

Armie wanted to be with her. He wanted to go wherever they went, for however long the journey would be.

Armie put his hand down the front of his boxers, letting his hand graze over his morning hard-on, feeling the emptiness even more acutely now. There was no warm body next to him; no thin shoulders huddled up under his armpit, no sleepy breath in his ear, no smooth back he could rub gently until the body turned over and towards him, smiling, eyes closed, arms and hands reaching out for him in just the way Armie wanted to be needed, sought after.

He stroked himself, knowing if Timothee were here, he would eventually crawl on top of Armie’s body, half-asleep; maybe his eyes would still be closed or half-open, curls askew, morning breath, cheeks rosy.

Armie would watch as Timothee grinded himself against Armie’s hips and cock, slowly rolling his own hips, dry fucking him until he nearly came. Often times he did, hating himself for it because it was never enough. He wanted to go all the way, every way without having to stop.

But on those occasions where he jumped the gun, driven wild by the sight, the feel of Timothee on top of him without ever entering him he would have the satisfaction of watching Timothee whine and rut against the sheets with his elbows and the heels of his feet as Armie either took him in his mouth or put his fingers inside him, sometimes all at once when he felt sloppy, needy.

Many mornings he couldn’t leave for work until he had gotten Timothee or Velvet off twice, his need, not just their own.

Armie was jerking himself off now, as fast as he could, thinking not of the visuals that had entered his mind moments before, but instead of the one thought, the one fantasy he had never had with them.  The very idea of it caused him to let go, shuddering down from the top of his orgasm, his sweat pants, even the sheets ruined, his body feeling dehydrated, livid and exhausted at being deprived for longer than a moment from the person it needed most.

**_~~~~~_ **

Timothee was dancing around Armie’s apartment, pink hoodie, pink baseball cap lowered over his eyes which were hidden behind too-big sunglasses he had on inside. He had been doing this as Armie came in the door, home from work, his brown leather laptop bag tossed down on the floor beside the front door.

Timothee seemed oblivious to his presence as he bounced around the kitchen, rolling his hips, one leg out in front of the other, stopping to spin on the heels of his feet, snapping and popping his fingers, knuckles and elbow joints out in front of him as if getting ready for a marathon of endless apartment dancing.

The music, Kid Cudi of course, seemed to be coming from every corner of the house, but it wasn’t an unpleasant sound to Armie’s ears.

Armie watched Timothee for a long time; either Timothee didn’t notice or didn’t care that he had a captive audience of one. It never failed to amaze Armie; Velvet was always aware of when and how she was being watched and observed but sometimes Timothee seemed to live in his own little world, hyper aware but loose and unable to hide certain things, certain moods and feelings.

Armie knew when he was hungover even when he pretended he wasn’t, knew when he had slept through the night. He knew when he had seen close friends as he came home happy, high, and cocky.

Timothee finally noticed him standing there but barely stopped moving, only to slide his way over to where Armie stood by the door, wrapping his arms around Armie’s waist.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” Armie muttered, putting his arms around Timothee’s back in return.

“Mmm sure am,” Timothee stood on tip toe to nuzzle under Armie’s chin.

They stood like that for a long time, Armie letting Timothee rock their bodies back and forth, Armie’s cologne filling the foyer, soon to be carted off by the early fall air coming in through the windows Timothee had opened at some point.

Armie looked down to see an array of suitcases, dry cleaning hangers and bags full of garments inside lay at their feet.

“All ready to go?”

Timothee nodded; face still buried in Armie’s neck.

“Flight’s tomorrow morning.”  He pulled away and looked up at Armie under the brim of his cap.

“’S okay if I stay here tonight?”

Armie’s face fell. He had never been asked before. It had always been an unspoken understanding that Armie’s home was Timothee’s home, was Velvet’s. There was no going back now.

Everything had fallen into place so seamlessly, no large discussions, or big, over the top moments, it had always just…been.

Timothee and Velvet had been given keys to his apartment after their first night together.

Armie shook his head, his smile wide and tight.

“Why do you even have to ask?” He ruffled the hair sticking out the back of the cap. “Silly boy.”

Timothee shrugged, little coy smile.

“Was hoping you could maybe give me a ride to the airport too? I don’t wanna battle the A train that early…or ever, really.”

Armie laughed, eager to end this pointless, logistical conversation. There were so many other things to do, to talk about…over dinner, in bed, on the couch curled up together with an old movie on that neither would bother watching, Timothee’s head in his lap.

He had spent most of the day at work going over and over in his head all the things he wanted to share with Timothee, the things he wanted to ask, to confess.

“Of course I’ll take you. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Timothee looked at Armie for a long time. He swallowed, but never looked away.

“I don’t want to leave you.”

Armie nearly collapsed with relief, no clue he had been holding in so much tension and worry until it suddenly left his body in one fell swoop. He grounded himself by holding onto the foyer table. He left his other hand at Timothee’s waist.

“ _Shit_.”

Timothee blinked, confused. “What? Did I say something-“

Armie was shaking his head. “No, no, fuck…not at all. You’re….” He looked at Timothee now.

“I’m not asking you to stay, I know this is your life…it’s…who you are.”

Timothee shuffled closer to Armie again.

“Keep talking.”

Armie sighed, this time turning to fully face Timothee. He took his hand, leading him into the living room where he sat on the couch, pulling him down beside him. Timothee hooked one leg over Armie’s, hips touching, holding hands.

“It’s only for a month and I know I’m acting like a child…”

Timothee was waiting patiently for Armie to spell out whatever it was he was thinking. There was so much there and they both knew it, both felt it, almost as if the same vibration was passing through them like static electricity.

 “I’m not used to the idea of you…the two of you…not here. Even last night…”

Timothee smiled, rubbed his smooth chin against Armie’s neck, gripping his hand tighter.

“Me too, I jacked off like four times.”

Armie laughed out loud. “Fuck, I’m glad it’s not just me.”

“No, it’s never just you.”

Timothee’s voice took on a tone of gravity. Armie leaned his head against the top of Timothee’s cap. Timothee nudged at Armie’s dress shoe with his high top sneaker.

“Come with me, with us.”

It wasn’t a question, and Armie had not been waiting for an invitation. Timothee’s voice was quiet, but Armie knew he meant it, he wanted Armie there, wherever there may be.

“Have you always gone alone? On tour, I mean?”

Timothee shook his head.

“Not always. Sometimes Pauline tags along, if she’s not doing a play or has a gallery show or something. But I do shows with people I know and work with…old friends.”

Armie smiled against the top of Timothee’s head.

“What’s an ‘old friend’ to a 22 year old?”

Armie felt Timothee shift beside him, his back straightening, the leg not attached to Armie was now curled under him on the couch. He cleared his throat and Armie knew Velvet was brewing somewhere between Timothee’s shoulders, in the middle of his rib cage, rushing out through his limbs, waiting her turn to tell the story, all of their stories.

But Timothee kept talking.

“People I care a lot about.” He looked up at Armie, chin on his shoulder.

“People I’ve known since I was sixteen, seventeen.”

Armie nodded; lips on Timothee’s pink cap.

“Mmm. I see.”

Armie took a breath so deep it made his shoulder blades tremble. He looked past the top of Timothee’s head into the kitchen, at a wall with a stupid painting that had come with the apartment. His eyes fogged over until the generic wall image was distorted.

“I…know this is not just a job, some kinda gig for you…I know this is who you are, who _she_ is…that she was always with you….” Armie was speaking to both of them now and knew he was doing a terrible fucking job at it.

But Timothee snuggled closer, no room left between their bodies at all. He wanted Armie to keep going.

“You’ve told me…so much about her. So much about you. Now I…” Armie bit his bottom lip, a mannerism he had stolen from both Timothee and Velvet in the few months he had known them.

He was greedy and selfish as fuck for wanting more, to know more, his well would never be full of them, his thirst never satiated. But this was a start, a place to begin.

“I want to see you in your element…all the time. Not just shows here…I want to see what you…what she…the in-between times where you’re just…” Armie was fumbling over his words, knew he wasn’t making any sense.

Timothee was slowly working his way over and up into Armie’s lap, arms on Armie’s shoulders while he babbled on, words he needed to say, things they all needed to hear.

Armie remembered Velvet telling about the first time she wore heels and lipstick, she was four, and how his parents hadn’t cared at all, had been delighted at her artistic creativity in fact, the dressing up only endearing Timothee more to his older sister Pauline who used him as her baby doll and he had loved it.

His parents still had a photo of him wearing his mother’s black and white Chanel heels and a red feather boa when he was five on the refrigerator.

Then there had been plays in middle school and high school where he got to dress up and put on make-up and even though he had gotten into both NYU and Columbia, he had bypassed all of that to keep staying out all night at too young an age, older queens often acting as his guardian, taking him in even though he was far from an orphan.

But there was something about him, about Velvet, where everyone wanted to be near them, to take care of Timothee, to be soothed and touched by Velvet.

Velvet had come to stay when Timothee was nine or ten, he couldn’t recall anymore, but she had been buried deep inside for as long as he could remember and then one day she was on the surface, a living, breathing part of his life.

He had told Armie all of this over time, over quiet dinners, she had shared this and more with Armie in whispered tones after morning love making where Velvet had laid herself bare in every way possible for him.

And now Armie held onto Timothee, keeping them both steady. He was looking him in the face, seeing Velvet there, a happy, wise glint circling green speckled lenses.

“You’re going to see everything, Armie.”   

Armie nodded. Timothee had rescued Armie from himself just now and in every other way. He knew all the things he was attempting to say, there was no need to keep going.

Armie still had things he wanted ask, but that could wait.

“So…you’re coming with?” Timothee was grinning now, rubbing the spots above and below Armie’s collarbones. He already knew the answer, just wanted to hear Armie say it.

Armie pretended to think about it for a second, finger up to his chin before grabbing Timothee on each side, eyes wide, smile bright.

“Of course I am!”

Timothee was laughing, held tilted back, his cap falling to the floor. He reached a hand out to disrupt his curls even more.

“What about your job?”

Armie shifted under the weight of his boy, his girl.

“I can work from anywhere. I’ll take some vacation time, I have a shit ton saved up.” A beat.

 “I’ll use it all on you.”

Timothee nodded; slowly working open the top two buttons on Armie’s shirt.

“On us, you mean.”

Armie grabbed the bottom of Timothee’s pink sweatshirt with both hands.

“Yes, on us.”

Armie moved to pull the sweatshirt up Timothee’s torso and chest, tugging it over his head and jumble of curls, letting it land softly on the floor beside its matching hat.

Armie ran his hands up his pale, thin torso until his fingers reached the white lace bra that had been underneath, a small whine crawling out from the back of his throat. He could smell perfume now, placed between the delicate cups.

“Did you wear this all day?” Armie whispered.

Velvet nodded.

“I did. I told you, you’ll see everything my love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iknowthebattle on Tumblr, as always X


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few new faces, one chapter to go. X

Armie’s apartment look like a tornado had run through it. It looked similar when Harper and Ford had been over for the weekend. Timothee and Velvet’s things were strewn everywhere, half in, half out of suitcases, his own clothing, laptop and books were neatly packed away hours ahead of the flight.

 He quietly tucked rolled up pairs of multi-colored, designed socks of Timothee’s into the sides of one of the half-empty suitcases.

The conversation with his ex-wife over his being gone for a month hadn’t been pleasant, but when was it ever? He had told her that he was leaving on a work trip; a lie that he didn’t mind telling.  He would miss his kids but there was Face Time and Skype. He would even send them postcards and bring back gifts from every place he went.

Besides, Armie asked himself, how often did his ex-wife leave the country last minute, hoping on a red eye to Italy or Greece for a yoga retreat or a friend’s birthday leaving him or her Mom with the kids?

It was Armie’s turn.

At long last they were ready to head for the airport, rows of luggage in Armie’s hands, hanging from his elbows and wrists and eventually shoved into the back seat of a Lyft.

It was practically sacrilege to take one in New York but it was early and they needed space, and Armie had long ago lost the idea that hailing and taking a cab in New York was romantic. It was slow and loud and dirty. He wanted ease, comfort and working heat for their trip to JFK.

He was Timothee at the airport with the flick of an ID and then Velvet on the plane.

 Armie sat at the gate holding her hand, leg shaking from anger that he could very easily place. He tried to soothe himself with a coffee, two cocktails and a candy bar but here he sat, Velvet gently smoothing over the veins in his hand, tapping his fingers.

She usually flew as Timothee, just made things easier, more comfortable, she explained.

“I should have known better.”

Her voice wasn’t bitter, just wishful; sad. But there was the pinch, an annoyance of injustice crawling out from some place in her throat, tinged with Timothee’s youth bound sense of morality and what was fair.

Armie clenched his teeth, angry at every person who walked by for being in on it, angry at himself for not speaking up. He tucked his feelings away when their row was called and Velvet stood up to straighten herself, reaching down for his hand. She didn’t need a hero, not like this.

“Come on my love.”

Velvet had the window seat and Armie sat beside her.

Velvet watched them leave the ground during take-off. She had told him this was her favorite part. She held his hand during it, and Armie watched too, _appreciating the feel of leaving something behind and going somewhere new_ , as Velvet said. He was usually asleep by the time the plane took off, but now he was wide awake, content to observe.

~ ~ ~

The bar was draped in red velvet curtains. The bartenders wore sparkles on their cheeks and chest, feather boas around their shoulders. Armie sat down at one of the few empty stools and ordered a beer, unsure at first what he should be having.

He took a long sip, giving the bar tender a way bigger tip than he should have for a bottle of beer. He had been to plenty of gay and Drag bars, but this time was different.

This time he was with Velvet.

“It’s as if you’ve never been in a bar before.”

A drag queen sat down beside him, soft pink and white see through lace pieced together in an elegant nightie complete with white, torn stockings, but bare feet. She wore a pair of pink and white bunny ears on top of her black hair that couldn’t decide if it wanted to curl or stick straight up. She looked like a punk rock Playboy Bunny.

She waved down at her ensemble.

“You’re late. I just did my number.” She looked thoughtful for a moment, finger to chin. “I like to think of it as Anjelica Huston meets Marilyn Monroe meets Vivian Munster.”

She turned to Armie now, smiling, extending her hand.

“I’m Ezra, Esmerelda when people are people are being assholes and by assholes I mean the shitty queens I call my friends, but please. Just call me Ezra.”

Ezra looked him up and down, one elbow on the bar.

“But come to think of it, call me anything you want.”

Armie laughed, choking back a cough. He shook her hand.

“Okay, Ezra. I’m Armie.”

“Oh, I know who you are. We all do.”

She nodded backstage.

“What are you doing out here with all the peasants anyway?”

Armie looked past Ezra to where he guessed backstage or the dressing rooms were, past the wall of curtains and multi-level stage that doubled as a dance floor and shrugged.

“Doesn’t seem like it’s a place I need to be. I mean…” Another shrug. “Isn’t it just for the performers?”

Ezra rolled her eyes.

“Jesus Christ, it’s a drag bar not Madison Square Garden.”

She motioned for the bartender, holding up two painted fingers, chipped blue varnish, Armie noticed and ordered two martinis, _“you know how I take it darling…for once, **extra** dry, same for my friend.”_

Once they had their drinks, Armie let himself be led by the arm by Ezra through the thick crowd, dollar bills spilling out of pockets, ceaseless chatter and noise between the acts as he passed by.

Robyn’s Dancing on My Own blasted from every speaker, from the DJ’s booth to keep the crowd buying drinks, happy.

“Did Velvet just drop you off at the bar like a lost puppy and retreat to her magical forest of fairies?” Ezra asked, opening the door for Armie and letting him walk through. He was still unsure, shoulders hunched as he barely fit under the heading.

He shook his head, sipping his drink that was so strong it made his eyes water.

“No, I dropped her off earlier to get ready. I said I would see her perform, and… then again after the show.” He felt himself turn dark crimson in the dim light of the makeshift backstage hallway. There was a faded poster for _Hedwig and the Angry Inch_ near his shoulder.  

Ezra laughed so loud it echoed all the way to the end of the narrow space and came bouncing back again.

“Oh honey we all know you’re seeing her _after_ the show.”

Armie opened his mouth to ask something, desperate to know what Velvet said about him to her inner circle, her traveling circus of a family she had known longer than she had known him, who knew her better than he did.

He felt this strange, strong concoction of jealousy, this jolt to his system, the realization of not quite belonging, but there was also happiness for Velvet, for Timothee.

The pieces of Armie no one saw or would have ever guessed existed were jagged, misshapen fragments that didn’t fit anywhere either, though he could pass. He could always pass.

But here, now, he sensed real, non-malicious exclusion. He hated the hollowness of it; the curse of being in the right place at the wrong time, not one of the Lucky Ones who started their journey together.

“Come on now, she’s waiting for you. We all are.”

Armie downed the rest of his martini, hoping it would begin to course through his veins before they got to the door of the dressing room.

He was nervous as if he had not seen them hours before, climbing out of his car as Timothee in grey track suit pants, an oversized lavender shirt; Velvet’s bag slung over his shoulder, pants tucked into his socks, untouched sneakers on his feet.

“You’ll be here early, right?” Timothee’s head was back inside the rental car, hat lowered over his eyes. He was smiling.

Armie smiled too, looked down at the steering wheel.

“You know I will.”

Timothee had nodded, satisfied. He hesitated before ducking back inside, both hands on the passenger’s seat to give Armie a kiss, his bag falling against the side of the car.

Armie grabbed his neck, keeping him there, kissing him hard, the last time he would be just his before he belonged to everyone else even for a night.

Timothee pulled back, smiling, lips puffed up, extra pink.

“Shit.”

Armie stared at his mouth.

“Yeah.”

 He had wanted to pull him back inside the car, not to keep him from his joy, but to make his own last a little longer.

“You should go,” Armie said looking straight ahead.

Timothee closed one eye, squinting against the sun; half his body still inside the car.

“I have time….”

Armie looked at him again, sighed.

“No. You don’t. I’ll…you don’t have time.”

Timothee nodded, backing out of the car, one last peck on the cheek that felt more like Velvet saying hello and goodbye before closing the door.

Now Armie stood here, Ezra opening the door. She was waving grandly with the hand that wasn’t holding her drink, announcing Armie’s entrance.

“Ladies, gentleman, undecideds and all the rest of you sexy mother fuckers, the one…the only…perfect specimen that we’ve only _heard_ about until now and he’s even BETTER LOOKING in the flesh…Mr. _Armie Hammer!”_

Armie stepped into the space, over the top applause and cat calling hitting him on all sides, his face fully flushed now, raising his empty martini glass in a mock toast because he didn’t know what else to do.

“I…um wow, thank you Ezra,” Armie looked around the tiny room, all the wigs, endless eyelashes and half-dressed queens stood before and around him, sizing him up from head to toe.

“…I’m here for Velvet…well, I’m here for all of you, but….”

“You can be here for me baby!” A low voice came from the corner and everyone laughed.

Armie smiled.

“Well…uh…”

He rubbed the back of his head with his hand, no idea where to go from here, what to say next to his captive audience.  

There was a hush, a sudden quiet in the room and Velvet appeared from in-between two of her fellow queens, parting them carefully with her hands.

Her arms were coated in white gloves, a faux diamond bracelet on her wrist over the glove on her left hand. She was wearing a dress Armie hadn’t seen before. It was a deep purple, covered in rhinestones, strapless, pulled in at the waist, a slit up her left leg. Her hair was piled up on top of her head in a tight bun, pulling her cheekbones back.

Armie’s heartbeat was thumping in both ears, looking at the reason he came back here in the first place, the reason he felt washed up on shore, freed and found after many nights lost at sea.

The rest of the room was looking back and forth between the two of them, but they were looking only at one another.

Armie swallowed, willing his vocal cords, his lungs forward, into motion to speak to her.

“Velvet,” was all he managed, putting his glass down on a nearby dresser and Ezra cheered in his ear.

“All hail the King and Queen! We just don’t know who is who… _yet_!”

Armie smiled, so did Velvet, deep red lips coated in sparkles.

She walked over to him, taking both of his hands in hers.

“I’m so glad you came. Back here, I mean. Stay. I don’t go on for a bit.”

Her voice was quiet, almost shy. She was, they were on display in a whole new way. This was a quiet little impromptu stage where Armie was the leading man, a co-star in what had for a while been a one woman show.

Velvet took his hands, raising them to her lips and kissed his knuckles gently. The room made more noise, but gentle this time, a quiet chorus of _aww’s_ and _oh girl’s_.

Armie actually saw Velvet blush, just enough to notice, it was a blush he had only seen in private and it undid every single part of him.

He pulled up a chair beside what was clearly Velvet’s vanity. He recognized her make up bag and large canister of powder complete with silk white powder pad. It was the same kind his Grandmother had worn. All the girls swore by it, or so he had heard.

“But be careful girl if you’re thinking of putting any of that on,” Ezra breezed past, her seat beside Velvet’s.

Armie shook his head. “Oh I wasn’t…”

“Have you ever heard of _clown lung_?”

Armie looked at her, wide eyed. This was further learning, still a whole new language for him and he was a willing student.

“Well,” Ezra put both elbows on the vanity, ready to dish. “Let me tell you, it’s what they say you used to get when you used that stuff,” Ezra pointed down at the box of powder. “Queens and rich old hags have been using this stuff since the dawn of time.”

Ezra picked up the pad and held it toward Armie’s face.

“So the trick is to take a deep breath and before you open it, hold it until you beat your face to death to get your make up to stick, and _voila_! No clown lung! You get to live another day!”

“Don’t listen to her,” Velvet soothed, sitting down beside Armie.

“She has a flair for the dramatic.” Velvet teased, her eyes alight with pleasure.

Armie looked back and forth between the two of them. He wanted to invent a crawl space into each of their brains and tunnel into their histories so he could see what was shared even though he had no right to it without permission.

Instead he smiled; rubbing Velvet’s nude back as she tidied up her area. It was almost time to go on.

There were roses from Armie as there were at every show on Velvet’s vanity and a photo of Pauline and Timothee tucked up into the corner of the mirror from a family trip to France when Timothee was 19. He was all legs, hair and peace signs, towering over his sister, one arm around her shoulder standing on a sidewalk. Armie touched the corner of the picture with the tip of his finger.

Velvet looked up at the photo. Armie saw her smile in the mirror.

“Showtime, Miss Black!” Ezra said clapping her hands above her head. She lit a cigarette, smoking from the corner of her mouth. Armie noticed she had an ashtray with fake rubies lining it, a few missing in places.

Velvet stood, Armie helping her up, leading her to the door.

“Do you want me to walk you to the stage?” He didn’t know if there was a right or wrong way to do this. This wasn’t a pageant and Velvet didn’t need some makeshift escort or bodyguard. He just wanted to be near her.

Velvet shook her head.

“I’m okay from here.”

Her words were tender and she let go of his arm, leaving him backstage, behind a closed door. The buzz had fully hit him but he felt grounded, earth bound, which he wasn’t sure was possible given the light headed feeling that swirled between his ears.

He walked back out into the bar and stood at the back and to the side since there were no seats left.

 He wondered if anyone noticed where he came from, if they wanted to know what it was like back there with them, with Velvet. He wanted them to ask. He wanted to show off, boast and brag

But instead Armie stood there, still an observer.

Only a few knew he was also a participant, a part of things, close to the center of everyone’s attention now.

People stood and rushed to the stage when Velvet walked on, dramatically appearing from behind the curtain which had pulled aside just for her. This wasn’t a quiet number, no. She was full of brass and bigger than life, bigger than the stage she performed on.

 Armie had no idea how she knew to be both small, then turn on a dime, taking up all of the air in the room, leaving you breathless, spinning, wondering if it had happened at all. Timothee did it too, sometimes literally spinning; leaving Armie to piece together the feelings he had been handed.

Armie watched as her hips rolled and her arms stretched out, slowly removing each glove, tossing them to the side, looking over her shoulder to _Big Spender_ , mouthing the lyrics. He wanted to get closer, to catch the gloves, to help her slide the diamond bracelet back up her arm.

But she wasn’t his right now.

He watched people hand her bills, women and men scream and sing along, her long fingers pointing at them one by one so they felt seen, so they knew they were special, needed.

Armie had watched her rehearse this number in his living room. He felt lucky, knowing he had been privy to this performance before, front row, one on one, Armie in a chair or on the couch. Velvethad  made it more of an immersive experience for him.

He smiled now at the thought, desire showing on his face, his body responding to the memory of Velvet sliding down his chest and lap, removing her glove with her lips, leaving behind a red stain.

She had given him more, beyond a preview, beyond what would be seen on the stage and he felt warm all over at the knowledge, the images. She had been fully clothed, half-dressed, then not dressed at all save for the diamond bracelet and necklace and heels by the end.

Armie backed up closer to the wall, not taking his eyes off of her. Animal lust mixed with unconditional love.

**_~ ~ ~_ **

The hotel lobby had a bar, modern and chic in that just remodeled way that Armie had seen in countless cities. It was generic but comfortable, with the TV’s thankfully on mute.

He would learn that over the next four weeks that there would be a variety of hotels; classic, modern, middle of the road but he never pulled Velvet away despite wanting to. Armie was happy to give comfort anytime Velvet may want it, but this was her life, shared now, but her life.

She had done this long before he came along.

This, Velvet’s community was not often found at the top of the Four Seasons, but lying on flat pillows sometimes, smoking on roof top bars other times.

Velvet and Armie settled in at the bar, ordering a martini and a Manhattan.

“Here’s to you, and to tonight,” Armie said quietly.

The sides of their glasses touched and each took a long sip.

“I see you’ve finally moved on from beer,” Velvet teased, admiring Armie’s large hand holding the thin stem of his glass.

“Well, I do like vermouth. It’s bitter and sweet.”

Armie looked at Velvet. They were turned to face one another, Velvet’s legs crossed in front of him. She had changed into a black, low cut, jumpsuit, her curls tied back with a sea foam green bandana, gold hoop earrings, her stage make up still on. She had a gold ring of her Grandmother’s on her left middle finger. She wore black boots with a high, thin heel.

This was how they had sat when they first met at that ridiculous bar Nick had dragged him to early last summer. It seemed like it had happened to someone else in another lifetime.

Armie was surely another person then. Certainly that night he was more his old self than ever. He had been bored, restless, annoyed. His life had been broken up into weekends with the kids and weekends without, work and home, drunk and sober.

When he had felt too much, he said too much, and then rolled over in quiet regret and shame that he could never admit, rinse and repeat.

Velvet quietly let this pattern unfold before her while soothing him with touch, with listening, with little words about people and the big world around them. Timothee was thoughtful, knowing to say nothing. He led, despite his age, by example, watching Armie burst at the seams and un-wind wildly sometimes. Their lack of resistance pulled Armie back.

Now his life, decorated with those people and places, those same dark feelings, was also a singular thing, the pleasure he felt with Velvet, with Timothee.

“I hope this whole thing won’t bore you or…drain you. It’s a lot, a different city almost every night…even for a short time.” Velvet reached over to rub Armie’s thigh.

Armie shook his head, looking nowhere but at Velvet.

“Please. Don’t. There’s…you know there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Besides, I’m used to travel. I do it all the time for work, as you know. So did my ex, for a variety of reasons.”  Armie worked hard to keep any trace of bitterness from his voice.  

Velvet left her hand on his leg.

“But the kids?”

Armie nodded, smiled. He knew his face looked sad.

“In an ideal world I would have them here with me.”

Velvet laughed.

“Don’t be silly.”

“No, really. They are used to all sorts of crazy travel with their Mom…with both of us actually when we were married. Harper spent her fourth birthday in an airport lounge. I’m not saying it was always the best idea but…”

Velvet took his hand, massaging the muscles in-between his fingers.

“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine being away from them. I hope I’m not-“

Armie put a finger to her lips. “No. Don’t. No guilt. I chose to be come along, to be here with you. Maybe sometimes I will have to choose them but…” Armie took a breath he felt through every pore in his skin.

Velvet kissed the tip of his finger.

“I just want all the….I want everything and everyone I love in one place. I want to carry you and Harper and Ford with me everywhere, all the time”

Velvet blinked slowly.

“Armie….”

“It’s impossible, I know…”

Velvet shook her head, scooting her bar stool closer to his.

“Not impossible.” She laughed, this time, pulling Armie close. He felt the power in her hands.

“Things will be difficult. That’s okay. Some nights there will be dinner cooked at home with just the two of us, or just the four of us. Some nights you’ll be gone, or I will. Some nights we will be flying over Kansas on our way to who knows where drinking really bad airplane champagne.”

Armie laughed.

“How do you do that?”

Velvet looked at the TV over the bar.   _Meet Me in St. Louis_ was playing on mute.

“How do you make everything seem like it’s all going to turn out okay?”  

Velvet turned to look at Armie, moving her head, her gaze slowly.

“Because it already has.”

~ ~ ~

Armie wanted nothing more than to take Velvet back to their room, pull her inside, and see who showed up. He would ravish Velvet and hold her until her bones stopped aching. He would shove Timothee against the door, tugging at every part of him for making him wait, kissing him until his lips bloomed bright red.

Instead they made a brief detour into Ezra’s room where everyone from the show was standing, or lying around, smoking under a dismantled smoke alarm, bottles of everything strewn from one end of the room to the next. There was music coming from a Bluetooth speaker on the bed.

Ezra sat near the open window, one leg propped up into it, smoking; a semi-circle of fellow queens at her feet.

“Oh my Goddess, look who has decided to grace her with his presence!”  Ezra teased.

She spread her arms wide to welcome them into the room.

A small, bird like queen with a flop of bleached blonde curls got up from the floor, making their way over to the make shift bar on the desk, pouring two glasses of warm vodka and walking over to hand Armie and Velvet each a glass.

“Troye,” Velvet purred. They kissed one another on the cheek, Armie taking a cue and doing the same.

“Baby girl,” Troye said reaching out to jingle one of her gold hoops.

“You killed it tonight.” His voice was light and airy, bright blue eyes soft as cotton.

“I see you’re already in your boy clothes,” Velvet’s laugh was soft.

He looked down at his baggy sweater and skinny black jeans, his un-tied combat boots. He was wearing Timothee’s Yankees baseball cap, Armie noticed.

“I had to be comfortable. I don’t know how you do it. I feel practically homophobic in this.”

He looked at Armie now.

“Maybe I should bring my boyfriend on the road. Then I would have a reason to stay all dolled up.”

Armie watched as Velvet pulled Troye in for a hug and they rocked gently for a moment, holding onto one another. They pulled away and Troye took her around the room, more hugs; more laughter, more things poured into her cup.

Armie would watch for a while before partaking in the laughter, the hugging, the smoking and (more) drinking himself. He would look at this gathering of lost and found souls, all together under one roof. He only knew Velvet and Timothee’s story, coming from a place of love and acceptance but he could imagine the other tales with more crooked, winding roads.

But here they were safe. They were together.

Armie sat on the edge of the bed while Velvet was greeted and said hello to everyone who came and went. He eventually pulled her down onto his lap with one arm, where she remained, toasting people with her blue Dixie Cup as they passed, leaning her head against Armie’s shoulder as the night wore on until she dozed off.

Armie carried her to their room after Ezra kissed her on the forehead, whispering _goodnight._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iknowthebattle on Tumblr xo


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Days are going faster than I ever could keep up  
> Overwhelming, the bed I've tried to make so perfectly  
> I surrender my hands beyond my head  
> You read me  
> -Charlotte Martin 'Bones'

 

He remembered how it felt, the soft, upper part of a woman’s thigh under his hand. There was usually extra skin there to tug on. At first the woman would pretend to hate it, until she realized it was a gesture of want, of need, of desiring her body, every single part of it. It was the space closest to where she wanted to be touched, and caressed; a place to be licked, kissed.

Armie was familiar with that terrain.

The first time Armie had touched Velvet he had no concept of what this would mean, how it would feel, how the world would tilt sideways.

He touched Velvet before he touched Timothee.

That day the previous summer Armie had been on his way to pick up the kids, he had fumbled seeing a familiar silhouette standing on line in front of him. He had tripped over his words, asking Timothee if they could meet again whenever he was free, maybe they would even come back to this place. They could have pizza _(no pineapples)_ and whatever else he wanted. They could eat the pizza here or take it to go; talking and eating all at once walking down the street.

Timothee had laughed, pulling his baseball cap down a bit over his eyes, shy, flattered.

“That sounds good…just…let me know when.”

Armie had nodded, arms loaded down with pizza boxes, looking for a place to put them so he could find his phone, a piece of paper, anything. His brain and hands seemed to be short circuiting, forgetting how to do even the most mundane tasks.

 Timothee had pulled out his cell phone from his pocket, masterfully balancing his one pizza box with the other hand while he typed.

“What’s your number?”

Timothee was looking at him, his thumb hovering over the screen, waiting, not impatiently.

Armie was mumbling, still searching his pocket with one hand when he heard Timothee laugh again, ragged and amused.

“You alright over there?”

Armie looked up, embarrassed, sweating through his work clothes in the humid hole in the wall pizza shop.

He rattled off his number and Timothee typed it into his phone quickly.

“Got it. Just texted you.”  Timothee’s phone had already disappeared back into the pocket of his black velvet pants.

Armie felt a soft vibration against his thigh, coming from his own pocket where Timothee’s message was waiting.  

“Great, thank you. I’ll text you back so have my number.”

It was just like any other conversation between two strangers who wanted to see one another again.

Only this time Armie was meeting the same person for the first time.

This was all a song and dance after he had recognized him, her…. _them_ and Timothee had remembered his name, no doubt spelling it without issue as he entered it into his phone.

Armie had no idea what name to save into his phone.

He quickly saved it as _TV_ , hoping he would remember to go back and change it.

This back and forth took place after Armie had told Timothee the choice he’d made, that he had chosen himself. He hoped Timothee understood what that meant, hoped he remembered that Velvet had asked him to decide what he wanted, who he wanted to be.

He hoped Timothee saw his naked ring finger.

But there was no need for details, Armie knew.

They did meet again, at that same pizza parlor after a few days filled with series of early morning, mid-afternoon and late night texts. Armie realized he’d stopped working and had spent the entire day looking at his phone, smiling, typing as fast as  he could, not waiting a moment to respond.

The first time he had touched Timothee wasn’t the way it was the first time he touched Velvet. That was why Armie remembered touching Velvet first.

They had bumped shoulders as they walked down the street, each holding a slice of plain cheese pizza, folding it in half the way you were supposed to, talking with their mouths full, Timothee gesturing left and right to the places he knew and loved.

It wasn’t then that Armie reached out to pull him close.

They parted that evening with a hug in Timothee’s building, Armie holding on longer, Timothee letting his arms dangle at his sides, laughing against his shoulder, his top teeth grazing Armie’s down jacket, enamel buried in feathers. They were crammed into the small hallway, Armie’s elbows touching the walls when he finally pulled away.   

“So…let’s do this again?” Timothee was leaning against the dingy wall with one shoulder, arms folded, just the tiniest bit smug. He was still wearing his Yankees cap. Armie wanted to snatch it off of his head and toss it somewhere down the narrow hallway, touch his hair, see what was under there, curls and sweaty forehead.

Armie swallowed, nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

His voice came out wobbly, not at all steady or self-assured. He saw Timothee smile under the brim of his cap.

Armie licked his lips, wanted to say more, to ask who he would see next time. He was curious, anxious, just a bit giddy.

_Will you be there Timothee? Or her?_

“It’s Velvet, right?” The words had escaped Armie’s mouth before he could stop them.

Timothee came up off the wall slightly, not defensive, but a little delighted sway.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that…I just know, well…when we met, and then again in in the pizza shop…I don’t…I’m…I…have _no_ idea what I’m doing.”

Armie looked helpless. Timothee was clearly enjoying this.

“I’m way out of my depth here.”

Timothee hummed. He pointed to the outline of Armie’s phone in his front pocket.

“Text me.”

A beat.

 “Soon.”

Armie was nodding.

“I will. I will.”

He was already planning the train ride home, how long it would take, how he would distract himself. He was counting the minutes; guessing how soon was too soon to reach out, wasn’t there a three day rule? No way he could wait that long. Should he use emoji’s? Armie felt old and younger than he had in years being next to Timothee, eating pizza he would have to run off later that evening, wanting to ask so many questions he felt he should already know the answer to.

He felt exposed, simple; clumsy.

Timothee extended his pinky, wiggling it for Armie to do the same.

Armie followed, watching Timothee’s thin, pale finger; bright pink, cold skin near the nail bed lock with his, swinging their hands back and forth once, twice.

He felt calm, fulfilled; happy.

“I’m glad we did this,” Armie said, filling the space. He meant it. He wanted to say more, but right now, he was grateful. He forgot how it felt to be thankful for something as simple as a quiet conversation in a cramped hallway. He had forgotten the crackly, warm feeling flirting brings to your bones, how desire switches and re-sets your internal clock to operate at full speed.  

Timothee was smiling again.

“Me too, Armie.”

Armie had waited one whole hour before texting Timothee. When he got off the train he sidetracked himself with Chinese takeout and the first ten minutes of a WWII documentary before grabbing his phone off the couch and sending the three most ridiculous words he had ever sent.

_Hey, it’s Armie._

Timothee had responded right away, and Armie realized how relieved he was, how worried he had been, the tension leaving his shoulders and the rest of his body instantly. There would be a next time.

It was this time that Armie had first touched Velvet.

He remembered the moment, but the sensation, the feeling; it was all twisted up in his brain, splitting the molecules in half. He couldn’t put it into words, out loud or to himself.

Timothee had been, was, lean and long, playful and funny, demanding in only the way someone his age could be when their desire, their energy was effortless and without limit. Timothee had been and was someone who knew both more and less than you would ever suspect. He was in control of his body, under, on top of and beside Armie, but unrestricted too.  

He could roam free or come in for shelter.

The first time he had touched Velvet, Armie felt as if his bones, his nerve endings had been electrocuted by new, bright light, shot through the back of his skull all the way down his spine and out from the bottom of his feet.

Velvet had invited Armie to one of her shows and he had brought flowers. He wasn’t sure what he would have would have brought Timothee.

When Velvet had folded herself into his arms at the end of the night, he had put his hands on her back carefully, nearly shaking with anticipation and fear; fear for himself that he would somehow, someway do something wrong. Fear that it would be obvious he didn’t know what he was doing, not like this, not with her.

He was terrified she would roll over in the middle of the night, turning away dissatisfied, unsure.

 _….It’s okay, it’s all okay…._ She had said against his neck, leaving a glossy trail. Her fingernail polish had been cheap, leaving bright red marks under the arms of his white dress shirt and all down the back, an adorned lioness marking her territory. 

Some places felt familiar, most did not.

It startled Armie how Velvet’s legs wrapped around his waist felt like something, a feeling he had known before, and yet like nothing else he’d ever experienced.

It comforted him to feel the warmth of Timothee’s slender body beside him not because it felt familiar or strange but because it was Timothee.

Armie quickly learned who it was that was texting him, picking up on Timothee’s weird grammatical ticks _(a space in-between the end of a sentence and an exclamation point—why he asked; Timothee’s answer: ‘It just looks cooler that way.”)_ And then there was Velvet’s comforting, smooth tones, gentle, teasing words; a set of red lips at the end of every exchange.

Armie had eventually saved the phone number in his contacts twice; one under Timothee, one under Velvet.  

 The summer, the fall, and now the deep winter sat side by side in a blurry slideshow with moments where he could stop the film and see the picture clear as day, the colors rich and vibrant, the edges not yet faded.

He had packed up his life for a short while to follow the person he loved, hopping from place to place not as an escort but a care giver who stood on level ground and equal footing alongside the one he cared for.

Armie had seen Halloween spent with his kids and Velvet, not as a replacement, but an addition, Cleopatra with her tiny but mighty pirate sidekicks.

He had celebrated his birthday at an outdoor restaurant on the Hudson. New York had started closing her ranks against heat and misery, welcoming in a barely there autumn breeze and earlier sun sets.

Timothee had picked this spot because it boasted the best steak in town. They all said that, but Armie didn’t care. Timothee took him to a whiskey bar after and carried him home, quite literally; propping him up against a cab, opening the door with his other arm.

Timothee had been laughing, shaking his head, curls askew across his forehead and the crown of his head.

“Oh, Armie…” A low pitched shriek against his collar, a faux complaint at the sight of Armie’s loose, drunk body sprawled against the side of the taxi.

Armie had pulled him in then for a kiss, sloppy and long, his hands on the sides of Timothee’s face.

 Timothee let him, resting his own palms on the side of the cab before taking Armie by the shoulders and breaking away, smiling but switched off.

It was the first time Armie had done such a thing in public with him. He had kissed Velvet across the table, on the sidewalk, in the lobby of his building and in the elevator on the way up to his apartment, but never Timothee, not until now.

Armie felt regret creep in, sneaking past the alcohol in his bloodstream, racing straight to his head, his heart. Not regret for what he had done, but regret that he had done it this way, in this fucked up, and drunk out of his mind state of being where he had zero self-awareness as usual until it was too late. 

“Timothee I-“

But he had been cut off by Timothee shaking his head, shrugging, saying, _don’t worry man_ but Armie knew by the change in his voice, the fact that he said _man_ and not _Armie_. The way he stood a little straighter and nodded towards the open car door.

He was someone helping someone else now.                            

“Let’s get you home.”   

Armie had woken up alone, a jack hammer pounding behind one eye, his stomach sour, his head foggy and his surroundings blurry. His mouth was sandpaper, his hands and fingers swollen from lack of water. Hangovers on the other side of 30 were never cute. He knew better.

Timothee had left an untouched glass of water on the night stand and taken off his shoes and socks, which sat on the floor at the edge of his bed.

Guilt flooded every part of his body, weighing him down as he staggered to the kitchen for coffee.

The amends he needed to, wanted to make made his head spin faster. He checked his phone with one eye open, the screen’s brightness turned down as low as it would go.

No texts from Timothee; no texts or calls from anyone.

A wave, a feeling of loneliness crept in, his apartment suddenly too silent, too still except for the quiet gurgle of the electric kettle on the counter. He watched it bubble until his eyes fogged over, the previous night coming at him in fits and starts, a broken train on the tracks.

He felt thin, sickly but bloated, full of something that should be expelled.

He remembered enough to feel sorry, embarrassed, not a new sensation for Armie after a night of drinking, but new with Timothee. He hated it.

He picked up his phone with one hand, pouring himself a cup of coffee with the other, bringing up Timothee’s contact info.

Armie blinked, smoothed a hand over his face. He needed to shave. How had he grown a half-beard over night?   

He began typing, deleting things over and over again, nothing sounding right; nothing that explained how he felt. He could say he was sorry a thousand times over because he was but there was more there.

He wished Timothee or Velvet would text him first. That would make things so much easier. Armie was used to others making decisions for him, used to others making the first move so he felt confident enough to take it from there. This was stepping into an unknown place and feeling, resting in the discomfort and unease.

Finally, a hastily typed; _Good morning. I’m an asshole._

Armie put the phone down on the counter, locking the screen, determined not to look, focused on getting his day going; first he would finish his coffee, shower the rest of this hangover away and then get dressed and buy things groceries, pick up his dress shirts from the cleaners.

It was after his shower and on the way out the door armed with his wallet and one arm shoved in his coat when Armie saw his screen light up; Timothee.

 _Good morning. You are an asshole;_ followed by an eggplant emoji.

Armie nearly collapsed with relief. He suddenly felt like saying a million words, all promises and endless apologies, tickets to whatever basketball game Timothee wanted—did he want to take a trip somewhere?

Armie would take him anywhere. He would make it up to him. It wasn’t throwing money at his fuck-up, it was giving Timothee all the time he had

His fingers sat heavy over the screen, wanting to ask all of this, but Timothee, Timothee who knew him better than he let on, who knew Armie better than any young man should know anything or anyone was already typing again, reading his mind, said _How about we start with brunch?_

All other plans were forgotten; Armie’s coat still half-on his body when he walked out the door, texting Timothee with one hand, asking where he wanted to go, telling him he would meet him anywhere before he reached the elevator.

~ ~ ~

All these memories, great and small felt like years instead of months spent with someone who was never really one person, never just one being because there was so much to more to life and love than _either or_ Armie had learned.

He knew instinctively he didn’t deserve this. For all the years he spent hiding who he was, for all the times he lied to his ex-wife, to his friends, to his co-workers, to himself. He felt he got off easy. No, not just easy, he got way more than he should have in having both a man and a woman to love.

And yet Velvet and Timothee were both more and neither of those things. That was far too easy, simplistic in a way that insulted their journey, their existence.

He spent a lot of time trying to understand the why and the how, but there wasn’t a word for any of this; for how he felt, for what he had with Timothee and Velvet.

 For the first time in his life Armie existed outside of his name, he lived beyond the label that someone else had given to him. He wasn’t so and so’s son, or the husband of whoever. He wasn’t just some guy who worked on Wall Street anymore. Maybe he was those things, maybe he was seen as that person to the casual observer but Armie knew better now.

He carried with him the love, the safety and security of the best person he had ever known in his life. This, he understood. This he knew to be true.

Armie knew the basics of his life; he loved his kids, he had a good job that paid him way too much money and he had Timothee and Velvet.

“Maybe someday you’ll do what you really want to do,” Velvet mused from her place beside him in the passenger’s seat of a rental car.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

Velvet looked over at him, a knowing stare.

“Oh, love. Please don’t do that. Don’t play that game.”

Armie shrugged, hands on the wheel, but he was laughing.

“What? Play what game?”

Velvet cocked her head, looking ahead at the road.

“You hate finance.”

Armie nodded. “No argument there. “

“So, why don’t you write instead? Become a journalist.”

Armie nearly ran the car off the road. Velvet was aware that he loved, practically rushed to read the sports section of the _New York Times_ and that he had on occasion thrown _The Washington Post_ across the living room in a fit of political outrage more than once.

But a journalist? At this stage in the game?

He wasn’t twenty anymore. Change came easy and with easily ignored discomfort for only so long before one accepts their fate or current situation and choses comfort, ease instead. He had done exactly that when it came to the way Armie took care of himself and his family.

Armie could feel Velvet looking over at him from the corner of her painted eye; a light sprinkling of wine-red colored sparkles and shimmer on her lid and deep black mascara.

Armie shifted in his seat.

“I’m too old to start over. Plus they would probably want me to write about stocks or something.”

Velvet puffed up her chest, a big sigh before letting it fall again. She tapped her gloved hand on the side of the passenger door, already bored with his argument, his excuses.

“I just want you to be happy,” she said softly.

Armie worked hard to keep the car between the lines, keep everything off the shoulder of the road.

“I know.” He reached over, took the hand closest to him. “I am.”

“Mmm.” Velvet’s voice was low and lax.

“Happy in _all_ ways,” she added, a squeeze from her black leather glove against Armie’s skin.

Armie didn’t answer for a long time. He had the excuse of driving, the pretext that he was thinking. But he knew the silence sitting the car was only a momentary reprieve. Velvet was good at allowing time and space to speak for itself. She did not have to do the work that the gaps in conversation, that the silence did for her.

Armie was quiet too. He let the GPS be the only voice inside of the car, instructing him to turn left, and then right. After a while he shut it off, knowing by now exactly where he was going. His body, the car almost on auto pilot. He wondered if eventually it would just drive itself and not need him at all.

Velvet hummed along to a song in her head, not because she needed to fill the space but because that’s the way Velvet shared her little joys and curiosities, maybe even sometimes her boredom.

Timothee did it too. His noises were more of a _do-do-dah-dah-dee-dee_ or rap lyrics under his breath before being shouted from the shower walls, echoing down the hallway of his apartment building, an endless display of comfort. Whereas Velvet’s were gentle, low actual hums across, up and down a scale of a new or familiar tune.

Timothee and Velvet’s musical stylings were make believe, always there to improvise, but both were also content to curl up with the finer, familiar things they loved and knew; Timothee dancing, bopping along to a song that was a guilty pleasure, curls unruly and reaching new heights with every movement.

Or maybe he would be playing Sinatra on vinyl, but there would be Velvet pulling Armie into a slow dance with Nina Simone or Natalie Merchant on the surround speakers in Armie’s apartment.

Armie’s head spun sometimes at the erotic, magical carousel he’d been placed on; round and round they went.

“I am very, _very_ happy, you know,” It was a long overdue after thought. It didn’t need to be said but he couldn’t stop himself.

Velvet nodded. “I know.”

She was rubbing his arm now.

“But there’s more than to life than…me…” a small intake of breath. “….Or Timothee.”

Armie had rarely heard Velvet or Timothee speak aloud about the other side of them. When they were here, when they were with him, that was it.

There were a few times the lines had been blurred, and it was during those times Armie almost didn’t know what to do with himself, his passion and curiosity at a fever pitch, unsure of where Velvet ended and Timothee began.

“No there isn’t,” he said. He coughed, wiping his mouth across the sleeve of his puffy winter jacket.

“It’s you, and it’s Timothee, and my kids and that’s enough for me. The rest is just noise or things I don’t give a shit about.”

Velvet laughed, understanding.

“Alright. Well, I’m happy to water the little seed I planted anytime.”

Armie smiled.

“Now I’m just imagining you as a cute gardener with those silly pink or blue gloves on, big floppy hat, clipping lavender and rosemary from our deck or rooftop make-shift, jacked up city garden.”

They were laughing now, full lungs; fearless joy.

“Or a real garden,” she said quietly, a hand covering her lips that were full, playful.

The by now familiar sight came into view, the crunch of the gravel drive, the winding road littered with pine needles leading to the place they had once come to escape, to become their truest selves by becoming other people and so, now here they were; ready to play dress up, dress down, play along or break free.

Velvet slipped her hand into Armie’s after he opened the car door for her, walking into the cabin they had purchased.

The lock and the door were old, soon to be replaced. Velvet walked in first. She stood, hands on hips, taking a deep breath while Armie watched from the door way, letting the keys dangle from his fingers.

She turned to face him, smiling, but unsure.

“Is it really ours?”

Armie hesitated before walking inside, his face in shadow, but he was nodding his head.

He stood in front of Velvet, casting her in shade, the orange-purple sky coating the wall of windows behind her.

“I should have carried you over the threshold.”

Velvet laughed, warm and low, pressing her head against his shoulder, letting it rest there, her mouth half-open. Her eyes lost focus as Armie held her there, gently rocking side to side in what was now their kitchen.  

“You know….I used to want…”

Velvet lifted her head to look at him. There was a smear of mascara left on the corner of his shirt.

“Tell me, what in the world did Armie Hammer used to want?”

Armie pulled her in close, as close as he could.

“Everything. I wanted everything.”

Velvet began unbuttoning the top of his cardigan, humming under her breath, eyes focused on the task at hand.

“And yet you didn’t think you deserved even the most basic things…” She sighed, looking up at him.

Armie put his hands on top of hers; they were now resting in the middle of his rib cage.

He now understood the most of basic of things was the freedom to be who he really was. Maybe that would change, maybe even from day to day, but now he could accept that person; whoever that ended up being minute by minute, year by year.

It was so simple. For so long he had made it so damn difficult. He had kept himself prisoner, locked inside four walls to a system of comfort and obligation.

 Now he knew how to pick and choose where his bliss came from, when it was time to do the things he didn’t want to do and how to return to the man he wanted to be, the man he was.

Armie shook his head.

“I don’t wonder anymore how I ended up here. I really don’t care.”

It wasn’t very important at all as Velvet stood before him, dress sliding off of one shoulder, waiting for Armie to pull it the rest of the way down until it touched her elbow and then her wrist, sliding past her fingers until she shook herself free.  

~ ~ ~

Armie had a bagel in his mouth, backpack on his shoulder, his MetroCard shoved into his phone case which was in one hand, holding the door to his apartment open with the other.

“Don’t forget your lunch!”

Timothee was in the kitchen, sleeves on his hoodie rolled up with the hood itself pulled up over to conceal his insane bed head, rinsing off the morning’s breakfast dishes and coffee mugs. He picked up the plastic box, shaking it in Armie’s direction.

“Canf uff puf if in mf bagf?” His words were messy and hurried, eyes pleading at Timothee across the kitchen counter and island.

Timothee laughed, jogging around in socked feet to unzip the bag of Armie’s bag, sliding his lunch of pasta and salad leftovers before into the main pocket and zipping it closed. Velvet had packed it for him the night before and even slipped a little note inside, careful to wrap it in plastic.

Timothee stood on tiptoe to kiss the back of his neck peeking out from between his scarf and shirt.

“Why does this feel like the first day of school or something?” Timothee asked, laughing still, smashing his own cheeks with the back of his hands, knuckles sinking into pale jawbone.

Armie turned around; pulling the bagel out of his mouth and propping open the door with his foot.

“Because it might as well be. First days always suck. I hate being the new kid.”  

Timothee rolled his eyes, making a noise that sounded like a gargled mix of _ugh_ and _uhh._

“You got this. You know you do.”

Armie had spent the entire night before packing and re-packing his bag, laying out his clothes for his first day at _Sports Illustrated._ They had taken him on, taken a chance really making him an editorial assistant.  It helped that he knew a few people who worked there whom he had gone to college with. It never hurt to call in a few favors, even if his old classmates were confused as to why he would leave a six figure salary to become a glorified administrative assistant in a dying industry.

 It was a bottom rung of the ladder type of job, but he had more than enough money saved to live on until he was eventually editing, maybe even writing some of the articles himself someday. Timothee and Velvet certainly believed he would.

Armie had turned down much bigger offers and fancier titles from _Forbes_ and _Business Insider_.  He was leaving finance for a reason. The only thing worse than crunching numbers all day was writing about crunching numbers all day or editing yet another list of the _Top 100 Billionaire Assholes In The World._

Armie leaned in and kissed Timothee on the mouth.

“Thank you.” He meant it for so many things, not just a bagel and the coffee that had been waiting for him when he woke up.

Timothee nodded.

“Sure thing.”

Armie kissed him once more. He really had to get going. The trains were likely going to be fucked six ways from Sunday on a Monday morning.

Timothee closed the door behind him. Armie heard the three locks click and slide into place one after the other. And then, there was the smallest of contented sighs from the other side. He knew Timothee had his hand on the door, probably smiling, and likely covering his mouth, a habit he shared with Velvet.

Armie put his hand up to the other side of the door. He hoped Timothee felt it.

~ ~ ~

It wasn’t a question of if she could stand and fight by his side or vice versa.

It wasn’t just a matter of learning to be better, wiser as they got older.

It was never about clear cut answers or boxes they could easily fit into.

There were holiday parties where introductions were still awkward and birthday party invitations rarely got it right.

But it was the small steps taken to the summit of whatever range they were traversing together.  It was both the peaks and valleys that made the journey of being bent and pulled worth it; it meant ending up in the same place, world weary or wide awake.

Velvet and Armie both carried their shoes in their hands as they strolled across the warm grass. The Park was alive with early evening baseball games, blankets covering nearly every inch of ground, New Yorkers thawing themselves out from an endless winter. The people, now fully formed but restless flowers, turning their white, pink and brown faces upwards.

Tiny, wooden boats sailed round and round as they wandered by, careful not to get their toes into the dirt. Armie once again told Velvet how _Stuart Little_ was filmed here even though she already knew that.  

She told him about how sometimes Central Park felt far away when she was a kid when time and distance felt even longer, even wider, but as she grew up and time shortened itself and distance pulled things nearer, she considered it her very own backyard.

“I was the luckiest girl in the world,” She mused.

Armie pictured Velvet here with her girlfriends, giggling, getting her feet wet in the fountain. He pictured Timothee here, at random soccer games and reading on his back, headphones in, dirty t-shirt and unwashed hair on the grass, no blanket, one foot crossed over the other.

Velvet reached up to remove a nearly sharpened pencil from behind Armie’s ear. She showed it to him, laughing.

“I was editing earlier!” He protested.

Velvet nodded.

“I know. I was watching from the couch. You were so….adorable at your desk, your fancy Tiffany lamp on, concentrating so hard that your forehead had those little crinkles you get when you’re reading something you really care about.”

Armie nearly blushed. She still did that to him.

Who else would notice his forehead and eye crinkles and love them enough to mention them the next day? Who else would know he liked his coffee better slightly cooled off and not piping hot as he wrote and edited?

Velvet kept his pencil in her hand, raising it to her mouth, pretending it was a fancy, vintage cigarette holder. She sucked at the eraser tip, releasing imaginary smoke into the early summer sky through puckered light pink lips. She closed her eyes against the weakening sun.

She was playing a role and wholly herself all at once.

Every time they walked through the Park, arm in arm or hand in hand, it felt like a procession of sorts, a secret pathway to some place where something, anything could happen.

 Perhaps something sacred was taking place. Maybe it was in the walking, maybe the touches they exchanged was itself the ceremony.  

Armie never knew.

But Velvet had taught him to imagine, to see every moment as something he could turn into whatever he wanted.

“You can be anywhere else anytime,” she was fond of saying.

Like now, Armie knew that for Velvet, in this very moment, she was a lady, maybe in 1920, having just gotten the vote, and yet still clinging to her Victorian morals so why not a stroll and a smoke in the park with her beau, the two of them barefoot? It was imaginary nostalgic charm and make-believe fine breeding she possessed but it felt as real to her as it did to Armie.

They believed one another.

The Park did not belong to only Armie and Velvet.

Armie would jog side by side with Timothee every Saturday morning, around and around the best spots and trails for early morning or late evening runs in the Park.  Once they jogged from the Met to 110th without stopping, across crumbling sidewalks full of angry, neglected sprouted tree roots that had finally broken loose. They had gotten plastered in lower Harlem afterwards. Their feet hurt for two days.

 Armie would walk slowly beside Velvet, just as he was now, holding her purse sometimes, discussing that evening’s plans _(with friends or not? Did they need to pick the kids?),_ and of course the perpetual conversation that every New Yorker knows all too well; where to go for drinks and dinner.

But the words, the conversations and phrases all sounded like new melodies, elegant, strange symphonies to Armie’s ears. It was no longer routine, it was ritual.

They were carrying on, the three of them, moving time and energy in a new direction that ended exactly where they wanted to be.

Armie and Velvet were reaching the place in the Park where they would have to slip on their shoes, increase their speed for the sidewalk and join the world of the City again.

As they did so, Velvet holding onto Armie’s elbow for balance as she slipped on one flat, then the other, Armie could be seen saying something to her, leaning down so no one could hear, as if even a scream could be heard here beside the busy lanes, above the subways.

Velvet smiled, resting her hand on his back, something faint, dust particles moving through the light.

They walked in step up to the street. They were two figures swallowed up into the steady stream of heartbeats, flashes of taxi cab yellow, sand white summer dresses, man-made forests floating overhead.

FIN.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read this story and left such lovely and thoughtful comments. It's been a pleasure writing these three. x


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